


The Sum of Them

by crybabycry



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Anal Sex, Body Dysphoria, Bondage, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Paul, Diapers, Humiliation, Little!Johnny, M/M, Messy, Oral Sex, Scat, Shaving, Spanking, Subspace, Watersports, Wet & Messy, Wetting, bottom!John, littlespace, top!paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crybabycry/pseuds/crybabycry
Summary: John spends a week at Paul's playing their baby games. What does Paul have planned and what will John learn about himself in the process? Rating for overall work, each chapter isn't necessarily sexually explicit.
Relationships: George Harrison/John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 93
Kudos: 171





	1. Sunday

It wasn’t that John was _happy_ that Cynthia’s mother had fallen ill, per se, or that his wife had elected to spend the following week caring for her. He certainly wasn’t happy that she elected to take their son with her, so he could have “quality time with grandmum” but also leaving John free of any responsibility more pressing than a plastic houseplant. No halfway decent husband and father would be in heart-palpitating anticipation for them to just get out the bloody door and leave already.

“Dear, are you sure you’ll be okay here all on your own?” Cynthia said with a tired exhale. Julian squirmed in her arms, anxious from all the bustle and strange activity that had been going on this morning. Dressed in a tiny suit, John thought he looked more like a large doll of a businessman in short pants than a toddler.

“Cyn, ‘course I’ll be fine! I’m a grown man, I can fend for meself in the wild plains of the suburbs.” He planted a kiss on her cheek before giving Julian one on the top of his head. “I’m prolly gonna spend some time at Paul’s. You know, writing.”

Cynthia smiled, and if John didn’t know better, he’d swear that she knew. “Where would we be without those genius brains of yours?” she said in a teasing tone, pinching his cheek lightly. “Sure you wouldn’t rather be spending your week with nappies and bottles?”

She obviously meant Julian (John had to mentally scream at himself), but John’s ears immediately turned pink. “Erm, Cyn, I don’t want to rush you, but the cab’s been out there for ten minutes now, he won’t wait forever…”

“Oh, dear!” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Be good, love.” 

John saw them out, shouting goodbye in various funny accents and voices until the cab was out of sight, then he bolted straight inside. Once in his bedroom, he grabbed an overnight bag, stuffing it with essentials he may need over the next week. When John had said he’d spend some time at Paul’s, he meant the entire duration of Cynthia’s trip. He didn’t pack much; Paul had said everything would be provided for him. A shiver ran down his spine. A whole week with Paul and just Paul. The band was between albums and wouldn’t meet again for weeks; all staff had been told to take a vacation as well, so there was no underlying paranoia about being caught by some diligent housekeeper.

As Cynthia and Julian’s train started to pull away from the station, John’s car pulled into Paul’s driveway. There was the usual gaggle of girls outside the gates, and they started to shriek when John made his way through. To their credit, none of them tried to force their way in when the gates swung open for John to pull his car through, so John dutifully signed several autographs for the girls after exiting his car.

“Well actually, we’re just very good friends,” he found himself saying when he suddenly felt a presence behind him, and the girls on the other side of the gate squealed giddily as Paul came up beside him, resting a hand on the small of his back ever-so casually.

“Ladies, do you mind if I steal him from you?” he said, charming as ever. “It’s just that I’ve been waiting ages for Johnny here to come and help me write a new song!”

“Oh, ladies, I do apologize, that really is urgent business!” John dramatically reached through the iron bars of the gate and kissed each girl’s hand. “I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive us and never stop buying our albums.” 

It took several more attempts, but finally, the two Beatles were behind closed doors, and John immediately found himself pressed against the front door and kissed passionately. “I thought you’d never get here,” Paul whispered against his lips, “and when you finally do, you spend half an hour talking to fans! What am I going to do with you…”

John bit back a moan. “I couldn’t help it, it would have been rude to just ignore them, Macca.”

Paul grinned, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him close. “My Johnny, worrying about being rude? What a good boy he’s become!”

John squirmed, a light blush settling on his cheeks. “I, uh, I left my bag in the car. Didn’t want the girls to see.”

“Mm, probably for the best.” He squeezed John’s hand, leading him forward. “You won’t need it anyway. Come, I want to show you what I’ve done.”

He led John upstairs and down a hallway John wasn’t sure he’d ever been down before. Sure, they were rich, but Paul had too many rooms, more rooms than he’d ever be able to use, even if he had ten children. One time, he and John had gotten spectacularly stoned and tried to make out in every room of the house, but they had only made it a quarter of the way through before giving into baser urges. He had _definitely_ never been in a room with a lock, he thought as Paul pulled out a key from his pocket. Paul must have seen his expression, and explained, “I had the lock installed when I decided what I was going to do with the room. I didn’t want anyone else to be able to walk in.” 

The lock turned in the mechanism, and Paul took John’s hand again, giving him a sweet smile. “I wanted this to be a surprise, so I’m not sure that you’ll like everything you find in there, but I thought that you would. I just wanted to get you everything that you could possibly want, even if you didn’t know you did.” With that, he pushed the door open and John gasped. He had suspected what he’d find when Paul finally made the reveal, but this was more than he could have dreamt.

It was a nursery, but scaled in size for an adult. A large changing table stood at the side of the room, its open storage compartments bursting with cloth and disposable nappies; a gigantic wooden rocking horse was on the other side, certainly big enough to support someone as large as John. There was a small bookcase with a careful selection of children’s picture books, as well as coloring books, and a chest of toys, open so John could peer in and see all the playthings Paul had gotten for him. In one corner, there was a large rocking chair, one John could instantly envision he and Paul sitting in together, cuddling sweetly, as well as a pink loveseat that wouldn’t be out of place in his aunt Mimi’s home. The centerpiece of the room however was the adult-sized crib. John approached it slowly, heart pounding in his chest. It had a lid to it, one that locked, so John knew that if he was put into the crib, he wouldn’t be getting out on his own. His cock ached in his jeans, and he tried to quelch the horrible voices that taunted him, shaming him for his perversions. 

“Do you… Do you like it?” Paul’s smile was shy, unlike the confident and dominant Daddy that John has come to know so well, and John realizes he hasn’t said anything since he entered the room. 

“Paul, fuck, I… I love it. God, save my soul, I love it, I’m already at full-mast here.” He pulled his lover into a deep kiss, rocking his hips against Paul’s. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” he whispered against Paul’s lips, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt. “I would have been happy with less, you know.”

“You don’t deserve less, love,” Paul said, firmly and so convinced that John already forgot that he didn’t agree. “You deserve everything, anything your little heart desires. This is your week, darling. I want to spend it pampering you like the precious little thing that you are.”

If John ever recounted this story for another person (and he never would), he wouldn’t include how he suddenly was fighting back tears. A romantic story rarely involves a good cry and a sit-down on a light pink loveseat, at least in John’s opinion, but as he found it happening to him, Paul holding him and whispering sweet nothings while John sobbed, he found it quite romantic indeed. 

Soon enough, he was cried out and Paul lifted his face up to meet his. “Feel better?” John nodded, and Paul wiped the tears from his face with his thumbs. “My sweet little love. Are you sure you want to do this? I was afraid it might be too much--”

“Paul,” John interrupted. “It’s absolutely not. This is-- perfect. Thank you, thank you, I… I never thought…”

Paul cut him off with a chaste kiss. “We don’t have to start right away,” he whispered. “We can just hang out for a while. Smoke a joint, listen to a couple of records, just talk about what we want to do this week?”

How could a man say no? So that’s how John found himself sprawled on the floor of the nursery, listening to Paul’s portable turntable, trying to blow a smoke ring no matter how many times he’s failed miserably before and no matter how utterly unimpressed Paul is with his efforts. Paul must have been more nervous than he let on, he’d already changed the record twice and was about to do it a third.

“Paulie, leave it,” John groaned, rolling over onto his stomach. “I like this album, I want to keep listening.”

Paul’s hand hovered over the needle for a moment, but he lowered it after John shot him a scowl. He sat back down on the floor beside his friend, and John crawled over close to him, laying his head in his lap. “Thank you, love. The Exciters are a good group, dunno why they didn’t make it as big as the other girl groups.”

Paul murmured what sounded like an agreement, stroking John’s thick hair. “This girl does have a fantastic voice,” he said. “I do like them, I just can’t decide on what I want to listen to.”

“Have you… decided what you want to do to me then?” He gave Paul a cute, coy smile. He wasn’t often the instigator in their games, but Paul could be too nice sometimes, give John too wide a berth after he experienced an overflow of emotion, and they’d end up spending the entire night not doing anything that they’d ever lie about if questioned. Not that that was a bad thing, but not why they were there.

Paul grinned and leaned down to kiss John sweetly. “I’ve known for weeks what I wanted to do to you, darling! Shall we get down to it then? Seven days, from now till next Sunday, I want you to be my baby. That means seven days of nappies, early bedtimes, and doing everything Daddy says. Do you understand?”

John shivered in arousal, despite the blush spreading over his cheeks and bridge of his nose. “I know I’m not allowed cigarettes during but… I don’t think I can go that long without one, Paul. I haven’t gone more than a day since I was at least 15.”

“Aye, me too, I imagine. I was thinking, we wouldn’t want to get overwhelmed with too much of ‘all this,’ how about we take a two hour break each day? You can have a fag or a joint, relax with something, ah, age appropriate for a little while. Maybe call Cyn and Julian?”

John winced; he hadn’t thought about them once since they had left this morning. “Should I do that now?”

Paul glanced at his wristwatch. “Give it a little longer, you’re fine, love.” He ran his fingers through John’s silken reddish-brown hair once again. “Do you have any requests for this week?”

“Uhm… Can. Can you, uhm…” John cleared his throat, hoping the words would come easier. “Would you… dress me up?”

Paul grinned broadly, making John squirm in embarrassment. “Oh, do you mind elaborating?”

“You know!” John groaned. “I know you ordered clothes, you took my measurements, remember?”

“You don’t know it was for this, it could have been for… band outfits.”

John laughed out loud. “I swear to Christ, Paul, if I thought you had ordered us more matching outfits, I’d quit the band right now.”

Paul pouted, but eventually laughed as well. “Well, you don’t know what I ordered, so I still get my surprise! But rest assured, you will be dressed adorably all week long.” He winked, and John wasn’t at all confused by his sudden erection. “Is that the only thing, darling? You want to be dressed in cute little baby clothes?”

John moaned, burying his face in Paul’s thigh to hide his blush. “And I… I… I wanna be tied up again. Some time. Like I was when Derek came, or to the bed, or… the crib.”

“I think we’ll find time for that,” Paul said warmly, stroking John’s cheek. “Now my love, there’s something very important we need to talk about.”

John’s heart started pounding in his chest, but he let Paul continue talking. “I don’t want you to push yourself to please me, or do something you dislike just because I like it. I want you to use your safe word or the traffic lights to tell me when something is wrong and you need to slow down or stop, but this will keep coming up.” He took a deep breath, sighing heavily and shakily on the exhale. “Do you want to use your nappies for your… number twos?”

He knew this had to be coming, but this line of conversation made John want to jump out of a window. He groaned and covered his face with his hands, but Paul didn’t say anything, didn’t try to backtrack or change the subject. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want,” Paul said again, “but I also don’t want to have to break the illusion of the game to have you use your nappy for everything else but then use the toilet like an adult. That’s why I got you… that.”

John lifted his hands off his face to look at Paul and what he was talking about. Hidden in the far corner, obscured by the changing table, was a monstrosity of a plastic training potty. Fire engine red and gargantuan for a real child, it was just large enough for John if he squatted down as close as he could to the floor, knees hitting his chest. John’s mind flashed with sudden images of himself sitting on that thing, grunting and straining to relieve himself while Paul looked down on him patronizingly, and he wailed in humiliation, eyes filling with tears again.

Paul sat John up, dusting his face with light kisses. “Darling, darling, calm down,” he said, tone even and quiet, apparently having anticipated this sort of reaction. “You obviously don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. I just thought… this would be, ahh, a fun alternative to the nappies or the toilet.” He gave John a gentle smile. “Unless this isn’t something you want to be part of the experience at all…”

John choked back a sob. He’d promised Paul that he would be honest with him always, but that could be so bloody fucking difficult. He didn’t realize at the time exactly how honest he’d have to prepare to be. “I, I do, Paul. I’ve thought about it, a, a lot, and it… fuck, it excites me and it makes me absolutely sick to my fucking stomach how embarrassed it makes me. But…”

“But…?” Paul prodded, and John bit his lip, two fat teardrops sliding down his face.

“What will you think, seeing me that way?” he whispered, breaking his gaze from Paul’s to stare at his hands in his lap. “You’ll never see me the same way again.”

“Johnny,” Paul sighed, cupping John’s cheek with his hand. “I’ve seen you every way, and you’ve always still been my Johnny, never anything else. I’ve seen you ballistic with rage, inconsolable with grief, giddy as a schoolgirl, and everything in between. I’ve been with you when you fucked girls, as well as all the times I’ve done the same to you. This is the most natural thing you can do, something _everyone_ does, and I promise you, I won’t think any different of you.” He pressed his lips to John’s before pulling back to say, “And since you were very honest with me, I’ll be very honest with you. I _very_ much like the idea of you messing yourself, and cleaning it up afterward.” John was certain Paul was trying to kill him. How else could he justify looking John straight in the eye, brushing back his fringe, and telling him, “I get off thinking about you filling your nappies and having to ask me for a change.”

John swallowed hard, though his mouth was dry. “You-- no, that’s not true--”

“I promise you, it is, Johnny,” Paul insisted, taking John’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m not going to force you to do anything, but you’re going to be here for a week, and you won’t be able to put this off. Will you think about it, for me?”

John nodded, silently and foolishly hoping that Paul would forget all about this. Paul seemed satisfied for now though, and pulled John into a kiss. “Are you ready?” he whispered, and though his heart felt like it was about to pound straight through his chest, John nodded again.

Paul stood, helping John up after, and then closed the door, giving them a semblance of privacy, but John knew that his privacy had effectively ended for the next week. “My sweet Johnny,” he murmured, stroking John’s face. “For the next week, you are going to be my baby and nothing else. You will be permitted two hours each day for adult activities, such as smoking, between 4 and 6 PM, but only on the condition that you remain in nappies. Do you agree?”

Damn, there went his plan for surreptitiously defecating in the toilet when Paul allowed him his adult time, but he should have seen this coming. He nodded though, and Paul continued. 

“Let’s establish our ground rules, shall we? Number one, nappies at all times. If you’re not wearing one, it’s because Daddy has taken it off. Number two, you obey Daddy’s orders. If I tell you that it’s bedtime, or that you are to stop playing, that is it, no arguments, or you will be punished. You will receive one warning that you are being naughty, but that is it. And number three, no masturbating, except with Daddy’s express permission.” He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and ran his palm over the tented front of John’s trousers, making John shudder closer to him. “I know that one might be difficult, but self-control is very important for little boys to learn.” He kissed John’s ear tenderly, blowing into it softly and causing John to pulsate with lust. “Are you willing to be Daddy’s baby for a whole week, Johnny?”

“Oh yes, Daddy,” John whispered, not a moment lost to hesitation. 

“Let’s take these big boy clothes off,” Paul said in a quiet, soothing voice. “You won’t need these anymore.” Before John could stop him, he had pulled off his shirt and already unfastened his jeans. He yanked the jeans down John’s hips, pausing when he saw John’s erection poking out against his whites briefs, leaving an obvious wet stain. “Well, Johnny,” he said, licking his lips, “looks like we’re getting you in nappies just in time. Your knickers are already a little damp. Did you have an accident, darling?”

“N-no, Daddy! It’s not--It’s not pee-pee!” John’s desperate tone and childish words made Paul laugh, and he crouched to pull John’s jeans and underpants down his legs, stripping his boy so he stood naked and aroused before him.

“Mm, my mistake, little love, it isn’t pee-pee.” He leaned forward and gave John’s hip a light kiss. “No, my little boy just got very excited thinking about what a big baby his daddy is going to treat him as this week. Isn’t that right, baby Johnny?” He swirled a finger around the head of John’s cock as John moaned above him. With a devious twinkle in his eye, Paul took the tip into his mouth, sucking for only a moment before releasing John and standing back up.

John whined, sounding obnoxious even to himself. “Daddy, Daddy, wanna cummy! Don’t stop!”

“Now, now, darling, if I let you have a cummy every time you wanted one, they wouldn’t be special anymore, now would they?” With an adorable and confident grin, he led John to the changing table and unexpectedly hoisted John onto it, plopping his bottom onto the plastic cover. John didn’t know what the noise that came out of his mouth was, but it _certainly_ wasn’t a squeak.

“Lie down, Johnny,” Paul murmured, tone and smile as gentle as any father’s, and John did as he was told, lying back on the changing table without a fuss. “There’s my boy,” Paul whispered, and before John knew what was happening, fastened a large leather strap over John’s midsection, effectively restraining him.

“Hey!” John cried out. “What’s this?”

“Shh, little baby, it’s for your safety! We wouldn’t want you to roll off and hurt yourself! Or even just if you decide that you don’t feel like wearing your nappy and run off, end up having an accident.” John’s cheeks burned as Paul stroked one. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

It was shameful, really, how just the mere mention of the word “nappy” was enough to turn John into a squirming, blushing mess. But Paul seemed to relish it, leaning in close to kiss John’s neck, giving him a quick nip. “My embarrassed little baby,” he whispered, running his fingers up John’s thigh. “I hope if you can take away anything from this week, it’s how to enjoy your nappies, not just be ashamed of them.”

John averted his gaze from Paul’s, muttering, “I think it’s pretty obvious I enjoy them…”

Paul sighed, brushing John’s fringe out of his lovely, sad brown eyes. “I just want you to be comfortable with them, love, for them not to be just this humiliating little secret weighing you down. I understand that’s part of the appeal, but it’s not just that, is it? It’s about comfort and relinquishing control, and that’s what I want us to work on this week, all right?” He kissed both of John’s cheeks before pressing a full, wet kiss to his lips. 

“All right, Daddy,” John whispered, heart pounding, and tears threatening to fall if Paul kept saying such things to him.

Paul spread John’s legs wide, then stepped back to admire the sight in front of him. “What a beautiful boy I have,” he sighed. He ran a finger down John’s stiff prick, trailing down to the thick patch of dark hair between his legs, giving it a gentle tug. “We’re going to have to take care of this tomorrow.”

John whined, humiliation cutting him deep. “Daddy, you don’t--you don’t mean you want to—”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Have you met many children with a thick bush, Johnny? It’s got to go. Practicality speaking, it’s more hygienic, and you’ll feel much younger as well.”

“But…” John whimpered, blinking back tears. “What would I say to Cynthia?”

Paul kissed his forehead. “Don’t worry about that now, baby. Hair grows quicker than you think, and even if she does say something, just tell her that I gave you the idea. That I read that it makes you look more virile or something.”

John choked out a laugh, wondering in what universe a grown man with a baby bald pubic region would be considered virile, but from the way his cock strained at the idea, maybe it wasn’t too off the money. Paul certainly noticed, taking him in his left hand, stroking calmly and slowly. He wasn’t the one strapped naked to a baby’s changing table. Paul was still fully clothed, from wristwatch to shoes, and he gave the impression of being able to walk out of the nursery to engage with anything else within a matter of seconds, while John’s composure devolved at a frightening pace. 

There were only a few moments of comfort before Paul took his hand away again, making John whine with displeasure. “Hush, darling,” Paul cooed, and produced John’s pacifier, rubbing the nipple around his lips teasingly before finally letting John suckle it into his mouth. John looked up at the man he called Daddy with big eyes, sucking loudly on his dummy and instantly feeling more soothed, despite the little part of him that realized how embarrassing it was to be comforted by such babyish things. “You look so sweet like this,” Paul whispered, stroking John’s chin with his index finger, and that little voice inside John immediately shut the hell up. Right now, all that mattered was that Daddy liked it. John giggled, the sound muffled by his dummy, and Paul’s face lit up.

“That’s right!” he exclaimed with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You look so sweet! What a sweet, happy boy!” He tickled John’s sides, making the boy squeal with laughter, and even lowered his face to John’s tummy to blow a loud raspberry. John laughed so hard, a few tears leaked down his face, but Paul had to push his luck and give John just a few more tickles. John had never had what would be called a strong bladder, but these were circumstances that would be trying on anyone, and it was only a matter of time before John felt the first spurt of hot piss come out of him, running down his leg onto the changing table below. 

He froze, blood turning icy even as he still laughed from Paul’s tickles. “Daddy!” he cried through his laughter, from behind his pacifier. “Daddy, th’op! I’m gonna—! I’m gonna have an accident!” Paul listened, but it was too late. The dam had broken, and piss pooled underneath him, dripping audibly to the floor below. John burst into tears, wailing and hiding his face behind his hands as his bladder emptied itself.

“Shhh,” Paul whispered, stroking John’s hair. “Shh, don’t cry, little Johnny. I’m sorry, it’s Daddy’s fault! He shouldn’t have tickled you so much. You’re just a baby, Johnny, Daddy knows you can’t hold your pee-pee! We should have put you in your nappy right away.” Paul pulled a drawer open on the changing table, pulling out a small towel. “Are you all finished, darling? Got all your pee-pee out?”

Sniffling, John nodded and Paul went to work cleaning him and the table up. The cushioned area John lay on was thankfully covered with protective plastic, and made clean-up easier, but the crinkling sound of the plastic and the way John’s wet arse clung to it, he felt more like a baby than he thought he could. He was starting to wonder what he had gotten himself into when he was interrupted by a cold baby wipe through his crack. He squeaked and Paul chuckled. “Let’s get the baby into his nappy, shall we?” Paul murmured in a deep, low voice, and John remembered why he wanted to do this.

Paul unfolded a disposable nappy and slid it underneath John’s bottom, then nabbed a bottle of baby powder to spread over John’s private areas. John remained still on the table, sucking his dummy and trying to look anywhere besides Paul. 

“What a good boy you are, Johnny!” Paul declared as he fastened the last tab shut, giving the front of the nappy a good squeeze. “So well-behaved for Daddy!” He undid the strap that held John to the changing table, and helped him to his feet. Instantly, John clung to Paul like he would fall if he were to let go, body pressed as close as he could and his hands bunching into fists with Paul’s shirt in them. John could hear his inner voice hissing, _stop it, stop it!_ But he couldn’t, no more than he could stop his quickening breath or the tightness in his chest.

No matter how many times Paul could prove contrary, John never expects to be comforted for what he perceives to be an irrational weakness, a flaw in his character. Paul sat on the rocking chair, and pulled John on top of his lap, the boy curling in on himself as he continued to suckle his dummy and cuddle as close as humanly possible to his partner. “Do you love me, Daddy?” he whispered, pulling the soother from his mouth for only a few seconds to ask the question, his eyes revealing how ashamed he felt to even ask.

“Darling, I love you more than anything else in the entire world! Even more than… guitars!”

John giggled, even though a tear managed to fall down his cheek, leaving a brief, shimmering trail for Paul to trace. “Even more than pot?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” Paul said with a cheeky grin. “I love you more than movies with happy endings, my Johnny.”

“And I love you more than movies with sad ones,” John whispered, pulling himself up straight to kiss Paul sweetly. “Promise that you’ll always love me?”

“Johnny, of course,” the reply came without hesitation. “I’ll love you until the end of my days, not an hour less. Will you… always love me?”

John knew that Paul didn’t suffer from the same kind of sadness that was within him. Paul’s was different, and at least from John’s perspective, more manageable. Some days John felt like sadness molded into a man’s shape, but for Paul, the sadness came out in the sum of them, the tiny moments that shouldn’t feel sad. It was these tiny bits of their shared but different sadness that reminded John that he was not alone, that Paul needed his love as much as he needed Paul’s.

“I’ll love you for always and ever,” John whispered, kissing Paul on the forehead like he did many times for his boy. They rocked for what seemed like hours, Paul quietly humming every song he knew while John dozed off into sleep resting his head against his Daddy’s chest, watching the light spots dance on the wall, the gradually setting sun catching on a mobile hanging over the crib.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! I hope I'm not too ambitious undertaking this fic, because I'm a little notorious for not finishing stories, but I'm feeling ambitious! Please leave comments if there's anything you'd personally like to see, because right now I'm working with a loose outline and mostly just letting the story speak to me as it comes! (That's a nice way of saying this story is only kind of edited.) Comments help me write faster! ;)
> 
> Also The Exciters are a very good group, please listen to The Exciters.


	2. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: Urination, defecation, spanking, bondage, subspace/littlespace, oral sex, anal sex

John woke snuggled up against Paul, and for a long while, he fought against consciousness, drifting in and out of sleep as he rested his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. However, the worsening pangs in his bladder finally roused him, and he was about to pull himself from his partner’s warm embrace when he remembered exactly what he was doing here at Paul’s.

John blushed, although Paul was still deep in his slumber. Though things were peaceful now, he had had the biggest fit last night when Paul had tried to put him to bed. Or rather, when Paul tried to put him to sleep in the crib.

Paul had meant what he said about early bedtimes-- it was only 8:30 and the last rays of the sun were finally fading from the sky. They’d had a lovely dinner, then sat watching telly while Paul fed John a bottle of chocolate milk, teasing the front of his nappy until he reached inside and brought John to climax with only a matter of several strokes. John attempted to reach for Paul’s zipper, but Paul caught his hand and held it.

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he murmured, kissing the top of John’s head. “We’re going to finish the program, and then it’s time to start getting ready for beddy-bye.”

John didn’t argue then. He was feeling worn out from their day, even though they’d done relatively little. He simply snuggled into Paul’s lap, sucking his thumb as he watched television. Once the show was over, Paul switched off the set and led John to the bathroom. John felt incredibly self-conscious on the long walk through Paul’s house, only wearing a t-shirt and nappy. If anyone were to look in… He tried to pull the hem of his shirt down as far as it would go, which wasn’t very far at all, and covered next to none of his nappy. 

Paul smiled kindly, observing John’s fruitless attempts. “It’s all right, Johnny, you don’t have to try and hide it. No one else is going to see you like this. Just Daddy.” He stripped him down, and bathed John quickly and proficiently in the bath. While sometimes Johnny and Daddy would have play time in the bath, John immediately realized this was purely perfunctory, if not still enjoyable. There was no lingering, no teasing touches in John’s secret areas, just an ordinary bath and scrub-down as one would give to any little boy. John shivered, not knowing exactly how he felt about this. It was almost impersonal, yet incredibly intimate. 

“There we go! Nappy all set!” Paul cooed as he fastened the final safety pin into John’s cloth nappy. They had decided they would use cloth at night, and disposable during the day, mostly so John could enjoy using both. Paul slipped the plastic panties up his legs and over his hips, then undid the strap of John’s changing table so he could sit up. “Let’s get you into your jammies, huh? We don’t want the baby to be cold tonight!”

It was only then the horrible thought occurred to John. “Daddy? Are you-- Am I-- Am I going to sleep with you tonight?”

Paul gave him a look with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you liked the crib?”

After John had dozed off in Paul’s lap earlier that afternoon for about the fifth time, Paul gently stood him up and walked him over to the crib. John didn’t put up a fuss then, and half-asleep immediately curled up inside the baby bed, latching onto his stuffed panda and letting out a contented sigh. Paul stood over him and watched for several long moments, reaching down to brush stray strands of hair from John’s eyes, before finally leaving John alone to nap.

The crib was _fine_. The crib was more than fine, if John was pressed to admit it, but there was no way in hell he was going to spend an entire night alone in it, not when Daddy was right down the hall in his own bed. Before John realized what was happening, he was bawling, stamping his feet and yelling “No!” over and again.

“Johnny, Johnny, calm down!” Paul exclaimed, holding John’s face in his hands and keeping him still. “Baby, what’s the matter? You have to use your words so Daddy knows what’s wrong!”

Words failed him. After so long of words being his best defense, and tears being the ultimate weakness, John could do nothing but cry in Paul’s arms. A part of him knew that Paul wouldn’t make him sleep alone, as soon as he knew why John was crying he would be immediately apologetic, but that made him feel worse. He felt so stupid, but Paul wouldn’t let him keep that mindset.

“It’s okay, Johnny,” Paul whispered, rocking John close to him, “you just go ahead and cry. Daddy’s right here. If you don’t want to sleep in the crib, you don’t have to. Daddy should have realized, I’m sorry, little love.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” John hiccupped between sobs. “I wanna--I wanna be good, Daddy!”

“You’re being very good, darling,” Paul assured him. “Telling me what you like and don’t like is exactly what I want you to do. If you don’t like to sleep in the crib at night, Daddy will remember that. That might mean I have new ideas for punishments though,” he said with a wink.

John turned pink, and Paul kissed him before turning to the small white chest-of-drawers. “It’s a little chilly tonight, darling. Why don’t we wear this?” He pulled out a fuzzy footed sleeper, bright blue. There was a zipper all the way down the front of the sleeper, and as Paul turned it around, John saw the drop-seat, a handy tool for changing a wet diaper without taking off the outfit. “This will be adorable,” Paul said, and there was no room for argument. 

Paul helped John into the sleeper, zipping him up, and John felt more like a child than he did when he only wore a nappy. His bottom half bulged out obscenely; there was no doubt that he was wearing thick nappies. Paul was right though, he did look adorable. John had yet to see the rest of the wardrobe Paul had selected for him, his Daddy wanting to surprise him day by day. 

A particularly bad pain went through John and he knew that he was going to have to urinate soon, or he wouldn’t be able to hold it back any longer. He knew the rules. He _knew_ them, but he still found himself crawling out of bed, out of Paul’s loving embrace and creeping silently to the bathroom door. It wasn’t until his hand was turning the knob that Paul said from behind him, his voice low from sleep and possibly anger, “Johnny, what are you doing?”

John whirled around, face flushed with shame and guilt. “I just! I was going-- I was going--”

“I know exactly where you were going,” Paul growled, sitting up and taking in his adult toddler in all his guilt. “There is no reason for you to go in that room without me. Even if you want a glass of water, you _tell_ me, and I will get it for you. You didn’t want a glass of water though. I felt you wiggling and squirming against me, Johnny. Do you want to explain to Daddy why you don’t want to use your nappy, why you’d rather break the rules?”

John wiped a tear from his cheek with a balled up fist, shifting his weight back and forth on either foot, looking at the floor instead of directly at Paul. “I… I didn’t… I thought… I didn’t want you to think I wet the bed... I wanted to be dry when you woke up.”

Paul was silent but held out his arms. John shuffled back to the bed and curled up on top of him, sniffling but otherwise holding his tears at bay. “My little darling,” Paul whispered, planting a kiss on top of John’s head. “You know I wouldn’t be angry if you woke up wet…”

“I know,” John whispered back. “I just…”

“Just wanted to prove to me that you could,” Paul finished. “I understand, little love. But that’s what we’re doing this week, remember? Daddy wants you to be comfortable using your nappies, any time of the day. You don’t have to be embarrassed about how many times or how wet your little nappy gets, because _Daddy_ is here to take care of you.”

John couldn’t respond. All he could do was take Paul’s face and pull him into a sloppy, emotional kiss, trying to explain how much Paul doing this for him meant. Paul kissed back, and John knew that Paul understood. When Paul pulled back and said, “You know this means Daddy has to punish you, right?” John knew that Paul _really_ understood.

Paul stood over the prostrate John on the bed, and unzipped the long zipper on the front of John’s sleeper, stripping him quickly and leaving him in nothing but his nappy and plastic pants. He sat back down, then pulled an embarrassed but obedient John over his lap. The spanks didn’t hurt, thanks to John’s generously thick nappy, but the humiliation was the real punishment. 

“What a naughty baby,” Paul muttered, focused on keeping count of his spanks, but those words went straight to John’s dick, and he moaned into the mattress. Paul’s hand stilled. “What was that, Johnny?”

“Nothing, Daddy,” John said in a small voice, attempting to be the picture of repentance. 

“Is someone enjoying his spanking a little too much?” God, Paul’s stern voice was like an arousal bullet to John, and he could barely attempt to defend himself. He only made another pathetic little moan, burying his face into the bed and rocking his hips against Paul’s lap.

“So naughty!” Paul scolded. He pulled John up and sat him up straight on the bed while he came to stand before him. “Looks like your desire to get tied up is going to happen sooner than planned, you naughty little boy. Daddy is going to tie you to this bed and you are going to wet your little nappy over and over again until you won’t even remember what the toilet is.”

“Ohh, Daddy, no!” John whined, hitting his fists against the mattress. “Daddy, I won’t do it again, I promise!”

Paul ignored him, bustling about the bedroom to find his restraints, and John felt angry tears welling up in his eyes. “Daddy! Daddy, listen to me!”

Paul didn’t respond; he actually left the room. Somehow, this punishment was worse than the spanking. Fat tears started rolling down his face, loud sobs ripped from his throat, and when Paul returned with his nylon rope, John was having a full-on fit. “Johnny, Johnny,” Paul whispered, sitting next to him and taking his hands in his. “Johnny, it’s all right, I’m here. Nothing to cry about, darling, Daddy’s here.”

John wasn’t exactly sure why he was crying, he wouldn’t be able to explain it if interrogated, but Paul didn’t question. John lunged into Paul’s embrace, hiding his face in his broad chest and crying until he didn’t feel he had anymore tears to cry. He eventually cried himself out, Paul holding and rocking him in silence as he calmed.

“Better?” Paul asked, seemingly nonchalant as he wiped the snot that had embarrassingly dripped from John’s nose with a tissue. John nodded, sniffling loudly. “Do you want to do this?”

John glanced up at Paul, then back down to his hands interlaced on his lap. They never showed this bit in romance novels, not that John ever dreamed there could be a romance novel involving anything like this, but the tender virgins who were swept away by handsome millionaires never broke down and cried, the crown prince never had to wipe snot from the school teacher’s nose. But they must have, because otherwise John wouldn’t understand how they could love their suitors as much as he loved Paul. “I want to,” he whispered. “I remember the safe word.”

“I’m sure you do, because you’re my very smart boy.” John giggled softly at the compliment, and Paul caught his face in his hand. “I just needed to check in with you. You’re really all right?”

John didn’t answer, only leaned forward and kissed Paul. “I’m ready for my punishment, Daddy,” he breathed, and it was Paul’s turn to moan, grabbing John by the waist and kissing his neck. Before Paul let himself get too carried away, he pulled John off to stand and ready the ropes, tying one on each post of the bed. John’s cock stirred, and he silently scolded himself as Paul secured a rope around each of his ankles and wrists. 

“Mm, God, I wish I could take a photo of this,” Paul groaned, standing over John and taking it all in. “Never thought I’d see John Lennon tied spread-eagle to a bed, in nothing but a pair of nappies and plastic panties! Good thing you’re going to be here a long time, I want to commit this image to memory.”

“How--How long, Daddy?” John asked, trying to sound casual but a note of desperation tinging his voice. 

“Dunno,” Paul said, ever decisive. “Till I feel like you’ve learned your lesson.”

John groaned and tugged at his restraints. They weren’t tight, and John wasn’t in any discomfort, but he definitely wouldn’t be able to free himself. “But Daddy, I’m hungry!” he whined. 

Paul’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear!” he exclaimed. “Darling, you are right, it’s nearly lunchtime and we haven’t eaten breakfast! Let Daddy go make you something right now, okay?” He was halfway out the door before turning back to the bed and said, with a wink, “Don’t go anywhere.”

John groaned again, and once Paul had left the room, he thrashed against the bed. His bladder still ached, and he couldn’t bear to do it while Paul was holding him, or worse, when he was spanking him. But now, finally alone, he couldn’t let go. He and Paul had been doing this for the better part of a year now, but John still found it difficult to pee without standing up or one embarrassing time, standing in front of the toilet while Paul coaxed him. 

_Come on, you big baby_, he thought, squirming on the bed, beads of sweat starting to appear on his forehead from the effort. _Just relax, let it go, just relax, go pee-pee, do it, pee-pee--_ A spurt emerged from him, and John cried out, almost shaking with relief. “Do it, do it, do it,” he whispered, willing himself to just let go, soak his nappy before Paul returned. The stream was finally trickling out steadily when Paul walked back in the door, a large bowl of cereal and a bottle of milk in his hands.

The sound of John pissing his nappy was clearly audible, but Paul only smiled sweetly at his boy on the bed. “Now then, I know my little darling likes cornflakes, and I even put a little honey on top as a special treat. Open wide, Johnny!”

John should have expected Paul wasn’t going to untie him to eat, but he certainly didn’t expect being fed. It wasn’t unpleasant though, even though it embarrassed John that he enjoyed Paul making airplane noises as he shoveled food into John’s mouth. His wet nappy felt wonderful around him for a little while, but by the time John had finished his cereal and was suckling away at his bottle, it had started to feel uncomfortable.

“Daddy,” John whispered after Paul pulled the bottle from his lips. “I, uhm, I wet my nappy…”

“I know, baby.” He reached out and squeezed between John’s legs, the boy gasping and rocking his hips up. “You’re a very good baby for wetting your nappy for Daddy.”

John reddened at the compliment, pleased at the shameful praise. “Will you, will you change me now?”

“Not yet, baby.”

John whined, sounding exactly like the petulant child he was playing at being. “But Daddy! It’s yucky!”

Paul slipped his fingers underneath the protective plastic underpants, feeling the outside of John’s cloth nappy. “You’re not too wet, Johnny. Besides, this _is_ punishment, remember?”

John could feel another whine about to crawl out of his throat when Paul slipped his pacifier between his lips. “That’s a good baby,” he murmured as John calmed as the dummy bobbed in and out of his mouth. “You lay here and suck your dummy, Daddy is going to take a shower, okay? You take the time to think about what you did and why Daddy had to punish you.”

He stripped off his pajamas, and it was immediately obvious how much John in this position had affected him. Paul stroked his cock slowly, looking over John, squirming on the bed, now intensely horny himself. “Is this what you want, little boy?” he murmured. “You want to make your Daddy happy?”

John nodded vigorously, and Paul grinned, crawling in bed and kneeling next to John’s head. He removed the pacifier and said, “I’m going to get on top of you, is that all right, my little baby?” 

“Oh, Daddy, _please_!” John gasped, writhing in his restraints. “Fuck my face, Daddy!” Like a viper, Paul slapped John’s pink chubby cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but the sting made John cry out.

“You know you’re not supposed to use bad language, Johnny,” Paul scolded. “You may ask if Daddy can use your mouth to pleasure himself.”

John blushed bright red, but managed to whisper, “P-please, Daddy, will you use my mouth to… to pleasure yourself?”

Paul didn’t waste a moment, crawling on top of John, straddling his collarbone and grabbing the back of his head as John took Paul as far as he could into his mouth. Gently, dominant but mindful of hurting his lover, Paul began to thrust in and out of John’s mouth. Bound, John could do nothing but let himself be used, and he loved it. He felt like Paul’s belonging, something kept. Paul’s masculine odor, the strong fingers threading through his hair, the intensifying thrusts as Paul came close to orgasm, they were all nearly enough to throw John over the edge, but the look on Paul’s face, that beautiful kind face with almost desperate love and the way he kept saying, “Do it for me, baby,” John came untouched in his nappy.

Paul looked down on him, shocked, but too close to the edge to stop himself. “Did you-- Oh Christ, you-- Johnny!” At the last second, Paul extracted himself from John’s mouth, and his spunk splattered all over John’s face, painting him a tableau of Paul’s desire.

Paul collapsed next to John on the bed, panting and almost laughing. “Did you really come, love? Just from that, without any touching?”

John wished he could turn away, wipe his face off, but Paul was already cleaning him off with a tissue. “Yeah, I… I’ve never done that before…”

Paul kissed his bruised, sticky lips softly. “Don’t worry,” he teased, “Daddy won’t punish you for that.”

“Is my punishment over, Daddy?” John asked, expression hopeful as he shook his hands against the bedposts.

“Not just yet, baby boy. When you beg me to get up… Then it’s over.”

John lasted a considerable amount of time. Paul had time to shower, properly wash John’s face, make himself breakfast, smoke a half-dozen cigarettes, answer approximately twenty fan letters, plus one to his father and brother, listen to two records and read part-way through a magazine before he heard John’s plaintive little calls of “Daddy!” from down the hall.

He opened the bedroom door, and stopped to admire the sight before him. He had checked on John numerous times during his time in punishment, checking to make sure he wasn’t developing the early signs of a rash, and feeding him several more bottles. John had wet his nappy at least twice more, and Paul suspected that it was more than that, but it was all John would admit to, and his nappy had begun to leak into his plastic panties. John had wept, but refused to beg to be let up from the bed. Paul removed the plastic pants and opened up John’s wet nappy.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna get a change?” John sniffled, but Paul ignored him. He wiped John’s bottom and crotch, and dusted the area thick with powder. Then to John’s horror, he pulled the wet nappy back into place before slipping another fresh nappy underneath that, and pinned them both together.

“Daddy, no!” John wailed, thrashing on the bed, but Paul only kissed his forehead before leaving the room once again. Now John lay still and red-faced, his legs forcibly spread by the thickness of the two nappies between his thighs. The outside of the second nappy was stained yellow, but from John’s tiny squirms, Paul could tell that the boy still had to relieve himself.

“Did you call me, baby?” he asked, walking over to the bed and sitting next to John. 

The boy avoided his eyes. “Please… Please let me get up…”

“Oh? Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Oh yes, Daddy, I promise!”

“Okay. Then tell Daddy what the lesson was.”

John whined softly, squirming even more against the mattress. “That I-- That Daddy-- Daddy is in charge. I’m just a baby, and I gotta do what Daddy says.”

“Very good, darling!” Paul gushed. “I knew my smart little boy would understand his lesson. Before I let you up, do you have anything else to tell Daddy?”

John looked up to meet Paul’s eyes briefly before turning his face down again. Of course Paul could tell. “Daddy, I--I-- I gotta go poopy…”

“Of course, darling. What a good little baby for telling Daddy!” Paul untied John’s limbs quickly, and helped John stand on his trembling legs. “Can you tell Daddy if you decided on using your nappies or the potty?”

John moaned in humiliation, and buried his face in Paul’s neck. He may have spent the better part of the day getting better acquainted with his nappies, but he couldn’t do… not that… not yet, at least… “The potty, Daddy,” he whispered, and Paul took him by the hand, leading him down the hall to the nursery. John’s double nappies were so thick, he couldn’t walk normally, making him waddle babyishly behind Paul. 

Paul pulled the training potty from behind the changing table and placed it in the middle of the room. John whined and felt panic rising in his chest as pressure clamped down on his bowels. “Daddy, Daddy, are you sure about this?” he asked as Paul began to unpin his nappies. They fell to the floor with a wet plop, and John shuddered.

“I’m very sure, my little love,” Paul said, his voice comforting and not intimidating in the least. “Only if you’re sure. If you’re not ready for the training potty, Daddy can help you on the grown-up one, if that--”

“No!” John interrupted, and to his humiliation, he farted. He turned bright red, but Paul only laughed. 

“It’s okay, little Johnny!” he giggled. “It’s normal! But it smells like you need your potty, don’t you?” With a pounding heart, John let Paul guide him to the potty, helping him squat low to the ground before his arse made contact with the small plastic rim. It was much larger than a real potty made for children would be, but John’s knees still hit his chest, and he hugged them together. 

Instead of like in his vision, Paul didn’t stand over him, patronizing and cruel. Could he have ever really thought he would? Paul knelt beside him, brushing the fringe off John’s sweaty forehead and holding his hand, squeezing ever-so tightly. “It’s all right, my little love,” he whispered. “Don’t be embarrassed, Daddy’s here to take care of you. Make your stinky little mess and Daddy will clean you up. Daddy wants to see you do it, baby. Daddy wants to see how helpless his little boy can be for his Daddy.”

John cried out, a mix of pain, humiliation, and sweet relief as his anus relaxed and he began to empty himself in the child’s potty. How had he let himself come to this? _Pervert, degenerate!_ his inner voices screamed, but Paul’s gentle words kept his focus. “That’s it, sweet baby, you’re doing it! Good job, Johnny! Such a smart baby!”

Despite the incapacitating humiliation and the tears streaming down his cheeks, John cooed at the compliments. His adult demeanor and worries seemed to be hanging on by a thread, diminishing every moment he spent on that potty. By the time he let out one last tiny grunt and whispered, “All done, Daddy,” it was almost like he was a different person.

“Such a good baby!” Paul praised, lavishing kisses over John’s face as the boy giggled. “Come lie on the changing mat for me, that’s a good boy.” John sank from the plastic potty to his knees, and crawled on all fours to the changing mat Paul had spread out on the carpet. It was covered in illustrations of adorable little kewpie dolls, some of whom in nappies as thick as John’s. He stared at one little girl in his eyeline, two bright red circles of embarrassment on her cheeks, but as Paul spread his legs wide, he couldn’t bring himself to feel the same. He felt far away from his body though he thoroughly felt the cool baby wipe come between his bottom, could only coo and make tiny moans as Daddy cleaned him.

Paul bit his lip, staring into John’s face. From his relaxed body language, to the peaceful expression on his face, it was obvious that John felt good, but this was the first time John had actually acted like… a baby. That felt odd to think, considering how long they had spent playing this game, but until now, Paul was always able to tell that it was _his_ John playing with him, the same John he played shows with, the same John who had been his best friend for years. Before now, he had only caught glimpses of John allowing himself to a more childish mindset before shaking himself out of it, but now, as John popped a thumb into his mouth and looked around the room with mild wide-eyed wonder, John had seemed to fully embrace the mindset of the child he was pretending to be.

“All clean, little baby,” Paul whispered, and John giggled sweetly. “You were a messy boy, but Daddy got you all cleaned up! What a good baby you are! Behaving so nice for your Daddy, using your potty without any fuss!”

John squealed behind his thumb, eyes lighting up at the praise. Paul knew how much his lover liked being praised, even for the most simple things, but baby Johnny was openly delighted and Paul’s heart bloomed more than he thought possible for the person he loved. “Daddy’s best baby,” he sing-songed, running his fingers up John’s tummy. “Daddy’s only baby, I love you so much!”

“Loff ‘oo, Dada!” John babbled, thumb still stuck deep in his mouth, and Paul’s heart swelled once again. He helped John into a sitting position, then stood and hoisted the boy up by the armpits, and into his arms. It was only a few steps from where they were to the changing table, but it felt right for him to do. John immediately lay back in order for Paul to fasten the leather strap, no hesitation or embarrassment present on his face or in his body language. 

Paul took his time to diaper John; he replaced John’s thumb with his dummy and handed him the small stuffed bunny John had become enamored with, and attentively applied rash cream to the more sensitive areas of John’s bum that had begun to show signs of diaper rash. John hissed in pain as Paul applied the ointment, but didn’t complain, and Paul made a mental note to properly reward his boy later. 

It was only after John had been snugly taped into a fresh disposable nappy and dressed into a robin’s egg blue onesie, once Paul returned from retrieving a fresh bottle of milk that John came back to himself. He had left John laying on the loveseat, still playing with his bunny, while he went to the kitchen, and when he returned, didn’t go directly to his boy, rather grabbed the full potty still sitting on the floor and brought it to the bathroom to be dealt with later. As he walked back into the nursery, he immediately felt the atmosphere had changed, and it was then John whispered, “Paul…?”

He hadn’t heard his name in almost a day, and he knew that the game was paused. He rushed to John’s side; the boy was still lying on the loveseat, bunny tucked between his arms, but now his eyes were cognizant and sad, a few tears slipping down and falling off the tip of his nose. “Hi, Johnny. You okay?”

John nodded, trying to muster up a brave smile, but failing and just managing to choke back a sob. Paul didn’t move by choice, he couldn’t stop himself from scooping John into his arms and kissing him until tears were a distant memory. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” John whispered against Paul’s mouth. “I don’t know what happened to me, I just…”

“Don’t be sorry, Johnny,” Paul said, stroking back John’s hair. “Did you… did you like what we did? Did you feel okay… after?”

“I felt amazing,” John said, openly and honestly, and Paul’s guts fluttered just a little. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t really control it though. Using the potty made me feel… It was so hot, Paul, but it was so embarrassing, and so utterly _babyish_, that I--I-- I _felt_ like a real baby. I knew what we were doing, I knew it was stupid for me to act that way, but it, it felt so _good_, and it felt _right_, and… I really liked it, that’s it.”

“I liked it too,” Paul confessed with a sweet smile. “I loved seeing you that way, you looked so… peaceful.”

John’s face broke into a big smile, relief plastered all over him. “I felt peaceful. It wasn’t… weird or anything?”

“Not at all,” Paul said. “I was a little concerned, but not now that I know what was going on in your head.” He leaned in and kissed John deeply. “I really am so proud of you, Johnny,” he whispered.

John squirmed, another light blush spreading over his face. “Do you… I mean, would you…” Paul cocked his head, amused at John’s shyness after everything they had done together, and John finally spit it out. “Do you still want to have sex with me?”

“Oh,” Paul sighed, taking John’s face in both his hands. “Oh my sweet boy, yes! Always yes! But only if you want me to.”

“But, but…” John stammered. “You saw me like… like that. How would you still want me?”

Paul knew that sometimes words didn’t make a blind bit of difference to John-- all that would matter are actions. He pulled John onto his lap, kissing him until they were both gasping for breath as his left hand pulled at the poppers that fastened John’s onesie together between his legs. He ripped them open and shoved his hand into the front of John’s dry nappy, grasping his hard member firmly and stroking at a steady pace until John was panting and writing against him. 

The need was overwhelming, and Paul ripped John’s nappy off, tearing the tabs open with the force of his action, leaving John naked from the waist down. John looked up at Paul with wide eyes, mouth in a tiny o, and Paul had to make himself not laugh as he guided John to the crib. “Lie down, little love, and Daddy will get you ready.” He retrieved a jar of lubricant, stashed among John’s nappy supplies, and surpassed one finger in favor of two in John’s tight back passage. John squealed, writhing on the plastic-covered mattress, attempting to cover his face with his hands, but Paul yanked on his wrist, leaving John’s face unprotected. “I need to see you, baby,” he growled. Paul was ordinarily a very patient lover, but being with John this way affected him in a way nothing else had. He _needed_ John, he must have him _right now_!

He sank himself into John, the boy moaning high in his throat and wrapping his legs around Paul’s waist, encouraging him to fuck him, harder and faster. “Daddy, Daddy, I can’t last!” he cried, tugging at Paul’s hair, surging into his arms as Paul took his prick in palm once again.

“You don’t have to, baby,” Paul whispered in his ear. “You have Daddy’s permission to cummy, you’ve been _so_ good, such a good little baby for Daddy--” John yelped, close but not quite to the finish line. Paul licked his lips, drawing the memory from earlier before his eyes, and said, “You looked like the biggest baby in the whole world sitting on your potty, pushing out your little mess, and I loved it. I loved it, my big baby Johnny, my _stinky_ baby.” 

That did it. That humiliating adjective made John gasp and Paul found his hand promptly covered in spunk. The look on John’s face, the utter shame and love he was unable to hide as he rode out his orgasm pushed Paul over the edge, shouting John’s name into his neck as he thrust relentlessly into John’s body. 

Paul was supposed to be the responsible one in this relationship, and he knew that he should pull himself out of the crib, find something to clean themselves off with, but as he pulled himself out of John and collapsed beside him, he couldn’t find it in him to care. He just had enough strength to pull John close to him as they both dozed off together, two adult men sleeping as soundly as children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to hell. Worth it? Possibly! xoxo


	3. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Genital shaving, cross-dressing, urination, body image/gender issues, anal fingering/sex

“Come on, Johnny love, hop up onto the changing table for me and we’ll get started.” Paul patted the plastic-covered cushion, raising his eyebrows and raising the scissors in his other hand. Despite being the premise of a literal nightmare, John’s prick stirred in his wet nappy and he shuffled over to the changing table.

“Help me up, Daddy?” he asked in a tiny voice, and Paul obliged, hoisting John up with a mighty grunt.

It was as if a flip had switched in John’s brain. Ever since he allowed himself to fall into his baby headspace yesterday afternoon, he was especially needy and clingy, but the little voices in his head that warned him how embarrassing and annoying he was being were silent, and Paul seemed more than happy to attend to his little boy’s desires. But Paul was adamant about attending to his own as well.

The strap across his bare middle felt normal now, as did spreading his legs as Paul unpinned his cloth night nappy, the cool morning air hitting his wet private areas making him shrink back into himself. Paul giggled, and John blushed. “It’s cold, Daddy,” he muttered. 

“Of course, darling!” Paul gushed. “You’re so good, letting Daddy do this without a fuss. If you keep behaving, it’ll be done quickly and we can get you back in your cute little outfit.” The scissors were long and glinting metallic, and John whimpered just a bit when Paul brought them close to his crotch. 

“Shh, shh, Daddy is going to be so careful, Johnny,” Paul said, stroking his thigh in a reassuring manner. “Daddy isn’t going to hurt you, and if you do feel any discomfort, let me know right away. Don’t wait to speak up.”

“Okay, Daddy,” John whispered, and Paul grinned before turning his face down, taking a thick lock of John’s pubic hair, and snipped it off. John could feel the cold metal of the scissors against his skin, and it took everything in his power to keep his hips still.

“So much hair,” Paul murmured, more to himself than to John. “You’ve got so little hair everywhere else, it’s all on your head and right here.” 

“Daddy!” John whined, embarrassed by his natural lack of masculinity. Though John would never supply this information voluntarily, one of the main qualities of Paul’s that made him so… _attractive_ as a Daddy was his thick and overwhelming body hair. Paul hadn’t shaved his face in days, and already had the makings of a thin, black beard. John, on the other hand, wouldn’t need to shave until tomorrow, and even now, only the barest of scruff had begun to appear on his chin and jawline. John despised the rules they’d had for so many years stating they couldn’t have facial hair, but to be fair, John absolutely would have not been able to concentrate on work if Paul had a full beard. 

“I think it’s cute, Johnny,” Paul said, smiling though he concentrated on his task. “Do you know how much I love your long, pretty legs? And your cute, pink chest? I love your body, everything about it.”

John instantly felt a sick and heavy weight in his stomach, like a stone falling into a pond. He was all of a sudden too aware of his extra pounds, the way his stomach bulged, his thick thighs that rubbed together… He must look so ridiculous, but Paul says he loves it? Beautiful Paul loves the way he looks?

“Johnny? What’s the matter?” Paul’s voice cut through, and John realized that his lower lip was wobbling something dreadful, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with unshed tears.

“I hate my body,” he whispered. “I hate everything about it.”

Paul’s beautiful face contorted in what John thought was pain, but it felt alien to him that other people would be hurt by his own disdain for himself. “I wish I could change your mind,” Paul whispered back, taking John’s hand in his own and kissing it. “Is there anything I could do?”

John felt too hot, even though he was freezing only minutes ago, and he wished that he could run away from this conversation. “I don’t know,” he answered, honestly. “I felt like this… before I gained weight. The weight has just made it worse. I just--I--” He let out a frustrated growl, trying to find the words he wanted to say. “My body never felt right for me, does that make sense?”

Paul’s eyes were dark, sad in a way that made John wish that he would just punch him instead. “I think it does. I’d like to understand how you feel, love. But so you know, I love this body of yours very much, no matter how it changes. And even if you had a completely different body, I’d love you just as much.”

John scoffed to distract Paul from the tear that slipped down from his eye. “Even if I had three arms?”

Paul laughed, and resumed his clipping, assuming that John was Finished Talking about this particular insecurity. “Even if you had eight. I’d just call you my little octopus and buy stock in a mitten company.”

John giggled, his bad feelings fading; silliness was always the best defense. “What if I had purple skin, Daddy?”

“Ooh, that’d be lovely! Purple is my favorite color, you know!”

They continued to banter this way for a while, until Paul set the scissors down, declaring, “All done! Well, half done. Stay right here, love!” He bustled out of the nursery, and returned several minutes later with a bowl of water, shaving cream, and a straight razor. 

There was something John found inarguably erotic about Paul holding his prick in such a clinical, non-sexual way as rubbed shaving cream into John’s pelvic region, and he hardened in Paul’s grasp. He whimpered and hid his face behind the stuffed panda he cradled in his arms. Paul only chuckled, that deep chuckle that seemed to come out more and more while they were playing. “Are you ready, Johnny?”

The glint off the blade of the razor next to his manhood should have been enough to send John running for the hills, but this was Paul. This was his Daddy, and his Daddy would never hurt him. He nodded, and held his breath as the blade scraped against his sensitive skin. It didn’t hurt, as Daddy promised, but he was very sure not to move even a centimeter. It was even a pleasant sensation, if John had to admit it. Paul didn’t talk, obviously concentrating on his task at hand, but instead hummed bits and pieces of their old favorite songs. 

“You’re doing so well, Johnny,” Paul murmured, rinsing the blade off in the bowl of water before returning to John’s skin. “We’re going to be done quickly because you’re behaving so nicely. And I was thinking, because you’ve been such a good boy, I want you to see all the pretty new clothes in your closet. Would you like to play dress-up with Daddy?”

“Yes!” John exclaimed, genuinely thrilled at seeing the new outfits Paul had ordered from the Amsterdam shoppe that had provided all of their new baby paraphernalia. He’d always had a thing for dress-up-- with Cynthia, he often (or less often than he’d like to admit) surprised her with elegant, seductive lingerie, that she would model for him in the bedroom, and once or twice, he modeled them for her, the two of them giggling madly as they fell into bed. John would never admit it, not even to Paul, not even to Cynthia, the way he loved wearing the lingerie. He wished he could wear knickers every day of his life and never have to look at a pair of ugly white briefs again. The satin and the lace felt so soft against his skin, and the way he was cupped and supported felt so… lovely. He felt lovely when he wore them, and he would let himself imagine a life where he was always lovely. He was so caught up in the memory that he didn’t notice Paul leaving the room until he returned with a cool wet flannel, pressing it against John’s newly shaved pubic area.

“There we go, sweet and lovely!” Paul declared and John finally got a good look at himself. He had to choke back a sob; he didn’t look lovely at all. He looked pathetic. Paul noticed and started tutting. “Shh, shh, none of that now. Let go of all those silly ideas of how you’re _supposed_ to look. Daddy loves the way you look like this.” 

Paul was very attentive to his lover’s needs, slathering the shaved area with moisturizer before taping him up in a fresh nappy, taking care of the itchiness John had just started to notice, and he commented on it to Paul. “How did you know I’d be so itchy?”

To John’s surprise, it was Paul’s turn to blush. “I… may have done it myself, a few weeks back. I didn’t have any lotion then and I was bloody dying, so I made sure to have some for you.” He fastened the last tab on John’s nappy, and undid the strap so the boy could sit up. 

“You shaved yourself?” John repeated, incredulous. “You said a few weeks, did you really mean months? I’ve seen you down there, and it doesn’t look--”

“Like I said,” Paul interrupted, helping John down from the changing table, “hair grows quickly. I just wanted to… see what it was like. If I was going to do it to you, I should at least know, right?”

“By that logic, you should have tried all of this,” John said, waving his arm at the nursery.

“Who says I haven’t?” Paul responded with a wink, and John immediately turned red at the implication, but Paul had already moved onto the closet. “Now, my darling! Are you ready to play dress-up?”

No one would ever accuse Paul of being conservative with fashion, and that flair didn’t limit itself to Paul’s own clothes. Onesies, rompers, and playsuits all in a variety of colors and styles had been ordered to fill John’s closet, as well as classic children’s costumes such as a sailor suit and a school uniform remarkably like John’s own from childhood, complete with little hat. Paul dressed him in each outfit, and had him take a good long look in the mirror after each one, drowning him in compliments.

“Oh my dear, you are simply the most adorable boy who ever lived!” Paul gushed as John turned in a little circle to show off his sailor suit. His nappy bulged under his shorts, but John was having too much fun to be embarrassed over it. “There’s only one more I ordered,” Paul said, reaching into the back of the closet, “but I didn’t know how you’d feel about it--”

“That’s a dress,” John said, too shocked to hide the tremor of excitement in his voice. And what a dress. Cotton candy pink and fluffy as a cloud, it was covered in ribbons and bows and ruffles. It was a monstrosity of everything _girly_ and John had never wanted anything more in his life.

“Do you like it?” Paul asked, fiddling with a large bow on the front. “You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t. They had more subdued ones, but I… Well, I thought you’d look very pretty in this one.”

“I’m not pretty,” John whispered. He certainly wasn’t pretty enough for that dress. How stupid could he be? Letting himself imagine playing dress-up in something pink and frilly like that, he would look so ridiculous that Paul would call the whole thing quits and then John would be alone and--

“Hey,” Paul whispered back, stroking his cheek, breaking John out of the nasty spiral he was falling down. “You’re the prettiest boy I know. And I wanted to get you something to reflect that.”

Does Paul even look in the mirror, John wondered as he let his partner take off his sailor suit and begin putting on the dress. Paul was the most beautiful man in the world, at least as far as John was concerned, and it felt like a bad joke that Paul considered him to be the pretty one. He grunted softly as Paul tied the ribbon around his waist into a large bow, and then guided him to look into the mirror.

“I look so…” John started, studying his reflection. Stupid. Fat. Perverted. Obscene. 

“So lovely,” Paul finished, a quiver in his voice. John tore his eyes from his reflection to Paul. Tears fell down his face, but he smiled broadly at John. “I was right, this dress is perfect on you.”

John could only stare for a moment, before grabbing Paul into a tight embrace. Paul would never fail to amaze him, he knew this for sure now. As pervasive and insidious as the voices inside him were, Paul was two steps ahead, with love and adoration his primary weapons. Everything John hated himself for, Paul loved those aberrations wholeheartedly. Especially John himself.

Paul laughed and twirled John in his arms, his feet lifting off the air, making John cling for dear life. “Come on, my darling! Dance with me!” He dropped the needle on his turntable, and the Exciters poured out of the tinny portable’s speakers.

It was awkward at first-- John didn’t consider himself a good dancer, and this was his first time trying to follow instead of lead. He was uncomfortably aware that he was nearly the same height as Paul, even if the other man did have one or two inches on him, but Paul didn’t let on if this bothered him. He looked at John with such adoration that John forgot to focus on not looking ridiculous, but just his love and the infectious beats of the music. By the time the record was ready to turn, John was giggling but worn out, if not more than a little sweaty. The dress felt more normal to him now, and he moved without any of the shame that shadowed his actions earlier. To Paul, he had never looked more beautiful.

John wore the dress the rest of the day. Though he couldn’t admit it, Paul could tell how much his little boy enjoyed his new outfit. He swished the skirts of his dress around his thighs and giggled at the sounds and silky feeling against his smooth skin, and Paul found him spinning in circles several times, making the skirt bloom before falling flat against him once again. Even when John had his allowed adult time, he kept the dress on, and Paul realized he wouldn’t be able to admit how aroused he was watching his partner acting like he normally did, smoking cigarettes and cracking jokes, all while wearing the pinkest, sissiest dress in creation.

“I should call Cyn,” John murmured, obviously stoned and acting at about half his normal pace. “Haven’t talked to her since I’ve been here.”

Paul fell into a fit of giggles; he couldn’t let John indulge alone, could he? In his stoned mind, he tried to parse out exactly what he found so funny. “I don’t, I don’t think--” he gasped out, in between giggles, “I don’t think that--that even Cynthia would ever wear something as girly as that!” The thought of typically macho John calling his traditionally feminine wife, talking normally as two straight marrieds, all while wearing the girliest dress that Paul could find was so absurd to him in this moment that he didn’t stop to consider John may not find that funny at all.

John’s face didn’t exactly fall, but Paul knew he said the wrong thing. John tucked his legs underneath himself, hugging his knees, hiding his face in his lap. “Oh, oh, Johnny,” Paul whispered, stumbling out of his seat and rushing to John’s side. “I didn’t mean anything by that, lovey! I’m stoned, I’m being stupid.”

“No, I’m being stupid,” John whispered back, not looking at his lover. “I’m not pretty, I’ll never be. Cynthia is a real girl, she’s a pretty girl, and I’m just… I feel like a joke. People would laugh at me, if they saw me like this. You should be laughing at me! I don’t look like a pretty girl, Paul! I look stupid!” John’s voice rose steadily until he was yelling.

“John,” Paul croaked. He didn’t know that he had fucked up so badly. All he wanted to do was satisfy any urges his John might have had. He knew that John thought of it as a big secret, that he couldn’t admit it, but there was something in him that longed for more than the constraints of masculinity, that yearned for softness and prettiness. John would never ask for it himself, but Paul had thought if he simply provided it… “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“I just look like a stupid sissy,” John muttered. He angrily rubbed at his eyes with a balled up fist, wiping away any tears that threatened to fall down his face, but Paul grabbed his hand, stroking it lightly with his fingers.

“I don’t want you to say these things,” Paul whispered. “Please? For me? I don’t-- I don’t think you look stupid. At all. I don’t want to laugh at you, I-- Johnny, I think you’re so beautiful, no matter what you wear, or what you think you look like.”

A sob ripped itself from John’s throat, and he slid from his seat onto the floor and into Paul’s lap, folding himself around the other man. “You don’t mean it,” he repeated over and over, crying into Paul’s neck. Paul’s heart ached-- John acted so tough and mean on the outside, he had seen countless men become beaten and bloody at the hands of his lover, but inside was someone so hurt and vulnerable, the thought of allowing himself to be beautiful merited a breakdown. 

They sat that way for what seemed like hours. The shadows grew long on the wall, and the clock chimed, signaling the end of John’s allotted grown-up time, but still neither of them moved. Paul was finally about to say that maybe they should get up, that he could make them dinner, when he heard the quiet hiss of John wetting his nappy. John didn’t look at him, in fact, kept his eyes closed with his lips wrapped around his thumb, face relaxed as his nappy grew hot against Paul’s thigh. Paul was instantly and ferociously hard, but he restrained himself.

Paul waited, then waited some more, then even longer, but John didn’t say anything, made no effort to move. It wasn’t until John let out a gentle snore that Paul had realized John had fallen asleep in his lap. Of course, he had overlooked an important aspects of a child’s day--naptime. John was often cranky when he didn’t get enough sleep, which was very often, and Paul made a mental note to add naptime to the schedule, right after lunch and before adult time. 

“Johnny,” Paul whispered, stroking his boy’s face, smiling when two bleary brown eyes blinked at him. “There you are. You fell asleep a little bit. Do you want Daddy to change your nappy?”

John nodded, yawning widely and squirming on Paul’s lap. “Did I… Did I wet my nappy when I was asleep?”

A potential minefield of a question. Paul knew that wetting while he was asleep was a huge source of shame for John, but he had thought John was awake while it was happening… Did he not realize he was doing it? So Paul did what he did best-- side-stepped the question. “You’re so bloody adorable like this,” he whispered, kissing John’s ear and groping the wet nappy between his legs. “Wearing this pretty little dress with a wet naughty secret underneath.”

John moaned, high in his throat, and turned himself around on Paul’s lap to face him, straddling his thigh. “Daddy… I--I--”

“Yes, darling, tell Daddy what you need,” Paul urged, bouncing John slightly. 

“I want Daddy to fuck me in my wet nappy,” John whispered, and Paul had never been prouder-- John looked him in the eyes as he said this, blushing but telling Paul directly what he desired. 

Paul kissed him desperately, and flailed blindly to find the lubricant he knew must be somewhere close at hand. John giggled against his mouth, and pulled away to skip across the room to his changing table, retrieving the lube and bringing it back to Paul with a coy smile.

“Such a smart baby,” Paul murmured. He turned John around so he faced John’s backside, and ripped open the right tab of his disposable nappy. He could pull it aside just enough that John’s bottom was exposed; John spread his legs, inviting Paul to find his hole. 

With a firm hand on John’s lower back, Paul encouraged John to bend over, putting his secret areas on display for Paul. Two greasy fingers inside John and he was already trembling and begging for the main course. “Please, Daddy, please!” he gasped, fists clenching in his pink skirts. “I won’t last, Daddy!”

“Patience, my dear,” Paul chided, adding a third finger for good measure. “You want to be a good little lady for your daddy, isn’t that right?”

John let out a strangled cry, and Paul smirked. He had avoided any talk of this before, but John didn’t tell him to stop. Sometimes it was easier to make a confession this way. “I think you’re ready now, love. Come sit that lovely little cunny right on Daddy’s cock.” He grasped John’s hips, guiding him back until he sat fully on Paul’s stiff cock. His face was bright red and the tip of his thumb rested between his lips, but looked desperate for Paul to continue.

“Daddy’s pretty girl,” Paul whispered as he thrust into John. He grasped the front of John’s nappy and ground the wet material against his cock, making John squeal with pleasure. He rained compliments on John as he fucked him, hoping to impress upon John how much he loved him this way. John whimpered and moaned, looking as beautiful as a princess as he moved against Paul, the skirts of his dress covering them both as they fucked.

As they lay together on the loveseat recovering, John gasped and raised the insides of his dress, only to reveal a growing wet stain. “Oh, Daddy!” he whined. “Daddy, my dress is ruined!”

“We’ll wash it, darling,” Paul said, warm and loving. “But for good measure, Daddy will order more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not happy with the ending of this one, but I felt bad for not updating sooner. Been battling a nasty cold, plus the holidays are ramping up, so work is basically going to be a gladiatorial arena for the next month. I don't particularly like sissy stuff, but all I really want is John in a dress like Carmelita Spats, so I don't know how true that really is. I just think he would have been much happier had he lived in a time and culture where it was more acceptable to explore your gender, and I wish wholeheartedly he could have had that.


	4. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: Urination and defecation in a diaper, rectal thermometer  
I'm sure at least a few of you were waiting for this chapter, so I hope it's worth it! ;)

John was in A Mood. Paul wasn’t a stranger to John’s temperament, but this was new. Instead of a regular John Mood-- caustic and sometimes terrifying, or maudlin and often heartbreaking-- John was quiet and clung to Paul like a brier. Initially, Paul wondered if John was acting this way because of the mouth soaping he had given him the night before for uttering the “f-word” while they were playing, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Though quieter than Paul had maybe ever seen him, his eyes were bright with love for Paul. 

They rose to the day slowly. Paul led John downstairs by the hand, the padded feet of his sleeper making a funny scratching noise on the carpet. “I’m not hungry, Daddy,” John whined as Paul sat him down at the kitchen table. 

Paul frowned at that. “What do you mean, darling? I’ve never seen you not hungry in the morning.”

John whined again, laying his head down on the table, not answering. Paul lifted his face upwards with two fingers under his chin, and pressed the back of his hand to John’s forehead. Slightly warm, but not necessarily a fever. It could just be from the fuzzy, flannel sleeper that kept John warm all night, or any lingering embarrassment John had. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

“My tummy hurts a little bit,” John admitted, squirming in his seat, and Paul’s mind immediately latched onto a conclusion. He didn’t want to enforce John’s bowel movements, but he was very aware that John didn’t make one the day before. He figured that in time John would become more comfortable with asking his daddy for his potty, but that’s what this week was supposed to be for. 

“My poor little baby,” Paul cooed, stroking John’s flushed face lovingly. “I’ll take your temperature after we have a little brekky, how ‘bout that? Some oatmeal, to help settle my boy’s tummy, and a nice bottle for after.”

John’s smile was so deliriously lovely, Paul almost felt bad slipping in the pieces of cut-up prunes into John’s oatmeal. He nearly felt guilty when John asked him what the fruity bits were and he just said plums. He was about to cut John off with close to half a bowl left, but then John broke wind in a fantastic fashion, his face turning a deep tomato red. Paul giggled and reassured his little boy, continuing to spoon the thick concoction into his mouth and dabbing his messy face with the bib hanging off his neck.

After breakfast, they cuddled together on the sofa, John cradled in Paul’s arms and long legs laid out underneath him, suckling sweetly at his baby bottle. John had let his eyes shut, eyelashes kissing his upper cheeks, so Paul took liberty in studying his lover’s face, more peaceful and innocent than he thought that his Johnny could be. Even had John opened his eyes and caught Paul staring, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. He could have stayed like that for hours.

There was a gentle hiss of urine trickling into John’s nappy, but he didn’t show any embarrassment or even acknowledgement, just kept sucking on the rubber nipple between his lips. Paul’s hand snaked between John’s legs and squeezed his thick, cloth nappy, the plastic pants crinkling loudly. John opened his eyes then, and Paul realized this was his _little_ Johnny, the one he had only seen for the first time after John had used his plastic potty. John smiled around the nipple in his mouth, gurgling a tiny bit as the milk continued to flow. 

“What a darling baby,” Paul whispered, taking his hand from John’s nappy. “Finish your milk, darling baby, and we’ll go upstairs and change that wet nappy.” John snuggled back into Paul, content to close his eyes again and suck until Paul decided he was done. 

Once the milk had reached the bottom of the bottle, Paul gently tugged the nipple from John’s lips, leaving him with eyes closed and lips searching momentarily for the baby bottle he had just been suckling from. Paul had to restrain himself from exclaiming out loud over how cute his little boy was, and instead sat him upright on his lap, John’s chest to Paul’s and his head over his shoulder. Before John could protest, Paul patted his back firmly until a loud burp escaped.

Paul laughed, and kissed John’s now blushing cheek. “Good baby! Do you have any more left in there?” He patted John’s back until no more little gas bubbles made their way to the surface, but they stayed that way for a while after that, Paul’s arms wrapped around John’s waist to hold him as close as he could.

The worst part about being a daddy is the responsibility, Paul decided as he forced himself to break up their warm embrace and start the walk up to the nursery. As much as he would have loved to stay in that position with John until they both had beards as long as Methusala’s, he had to be the responsible one to make sure John’s wet nappy was changed in a timely manner. The boy had developed a slight rash the other day from his punishment, but with mindful care, it had all but disappeared. And though he was more or less positive that John’s tummy ache would be cured with a simple poo, he wouldn’t overlook an opportunity to appeal to John’s babyish tendencies.

He longed to photograph John this way, wearing nothing but a yellow-stained nappy, strapped to his oversized changing table, a humongous dummy between his lips, but that would be too risky for them, and he knew it. He could take his time to admire though; John in littlespace was fascinated by almost anything, and now he stared wide-eyed at the animal themed mobile above his head, reaching out to touch the little black kitten just beyond his fingertips. He was so engaged with the mobile, he barely reacted to Paul changing his nappy, following all of his commands in the same distracted way as he did when photographers gave the band commands.

“Johnny, my love,” Paul murmured, “Daddy is going to take your temperature now, is that all right?”

John nodded, and took the pacifier out of his mouth in preparation. Paul chuckled. “Baby, you’re much too little for a regular thermometer! This is the kind of thermometers that babies use.” With little warning, the greased glass bulb of the rectal thermometer entered John and he squealed with surprise. 

“Daddy! It’s cold!!”

Paul shushed him and slipped the dummy back into his mouth before turning his attention to his wristwatch to time how long it had been. John squirmed and whined the whole time, even after Paul shot him a warning glance, but he let the boy get away with it once it was over and John did prove to have a very slight fever.

“See, I am sick,” John pouted as Paul taped him up into a clean, disposable nappy. “Do you believe me now?”

“Of course I do, Johnny darling! I didn’t _not_ believe you before, I just wanted to be sure you weren’t _very_ sick.” He helped John off the changing table, holding both of his hands. “How about you pick out any outfit you want to wear today, and I’ll make us a special treat for later?”

“Cookies!” John exclaimed, not missing a beat, and Paul had to laugh. As confident as John was in which treat he wanted, he was unsure about what he wanted to wear, Paul suggesting outfit after outfit while John sucked his dummy and blushed a little as he shook his head until finally he agreed to a light blue onesie with “JOHNNY” stitched onto the front on children’s playing blocks. The onesie’s legs were cut high with poppers at the crotch, and John’s chubby thighs jiggled as he moved, but for once, John didn’t seem self-conscious of being so exposed.

“Why don’t we gather up some paper and your crayons, and you can draw a lovely picture for Daddy?” Paul suggested as he pinned John’s dummy to a clip on the front of his onesie. “I want you to come downstairs while I’m baking, it would be dangerous to leave a little boy all on his own.”

Paul got John settled on the floor of the living room, putting a layer of magazines down over the carpet so John could lay on his belly to draw. Seeing John’s thick, pale legs splayed out on the living room floor, suckling noisily at his dummy without a care in the world, Paul realized this was the happiest he had ever been. The thought slightly terrified him.

“Daddy will just be in the next room, love,” he murmured, and left John to his drawing as he stepped into the kitchen. He had to light a cigarette; he had tried to abstain as long as John was having to, but it was sorely needed. As strange and unconventional their love affair was, Paul knew that it made both of them happier than wives and girlfriends, millions of fans, piles of money, or meaningless things. And he would sacrifice anything to keep this slice of perfection, this one little haven that was completely theirs and not the world’s. 

***

“D...Daddy?”

Paul glanced up, smiling at his boy as he molded the cookie dough onto the cooking sheet. “Hi, little love, have you finished your picture? Daddy is _almost_ finish--”

“Daddy, I gotta go potty…” John said, voice not much more than a whisper. 

“What’s that, darling?” Paul said, his smile transforming into one more knowing and teasing. “Speak up, Johnny.”

“I gotta potty!” John whined, face bright red as he squirmed in the spot where he stood. “Please, Daddy, I gotta go so bad!”

Paul’s smile fell as he realized how urgent John’s need was. “Okay, love, settle down, Daddy’s got his hands all full of cookie dough, and I need to finish this before I help you go potty. Can you hold it for a few minutes like a big boy can?”

John whined again, but he nodded, and Paul praised him accordingly. “You’re such a good boy, Johnny! I know you can do it! You’re Daddy’s good big boy!”

The phone rang, and John nearly jumped out of his skin. Paul grabbed it best he could with a dough-covered hand, immediately cradling it under his chin as he continued doling out the cookie batch as quickly as he could.

“Hello? Oh hullo, George!” Paul saw John stand still with shock as he heard their friend and bandmate’s name, as though George were suddenly there and could see what they were doing. “What’s that? Not much, John’s over. We’re making cookies!”

“You and John?” George’s big smile was obvious even over the phone. “Didn’t John once add marmalade to his cornflakes when he didn’t have any honey because ‘it doesn’t make a blind fookin’ difference, does it?’”

Paul burst into laughter, inadvertently making John’s worry lines grow deeper. “I had forgotten about that! Don’t worry, John’s just, ah, supervising, I’m doing the baking.”

John was currently walking in tiny circles, moaning quietly and holding his stomach. Paul wouldn’t say anything of the sort, but his gas was quickly filling the kitchen, overpowering the smell of cookie dough, and Paul surreptitiously cracked the window. John moaned, almost doubling in on himself. Though there was a water closet not more than twenty feet away from the kitchen, John didn’t once seem to consider the possibility of running to use it, and Paul would be certain to reward that behavior later.

“Anyway, I was calling because Thursday night, Ritchie and I--”

George was cut off as John let out the loudest groan of all as he squatted down, close to the floor. It was immediately obvious what John was doing. His face pink with exertion and humiliation, he grunted and whined as he filled his nappy. Paul was frozen in place, phone still beneath his chin, George still talking in his ear, but absolutely none of that registered. 

Tears streamed down John’s cheeks as he stared up at Paul; it seemed to go on forever. John’s nappy bulged wonderfully beneath him, and there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind if they saw him that he had messed himself. Of course it did end, and John stood slowly, his hand going to the seat of his nappy and patting it in disbelief.

“Paul, are you there? Are you listening to me?”

“What? Yes, yes, of course, that’s fine!” Paul wasn’t listening at all even as George continued to talk, focusing instead on the love of his life that just ran crying into the living room with a full load in his diaper. His baby _needed_ him, what was he doing?! “That’s fine, it’s all fine, really gotta go, cookies burning in the oven, ta George!”

He slammed the phone onto the receiver with a deafening _brrink!_ and ran after Johnny, wiping his sticky hands on his jeans as he did. “Johnny! Lovey, come back, it’s all right!” As he entered the living room, he stopped at the doorway, initially confused by the lack of John. It only took seconds though to see the top of John’s auburn hair poking up from behind the sofa, and to hear the soft sounds of John’s sobs.

Paul crossed the room to the sofa, kneeling on the cushions to look over and meet John’s tearful, blush-stained face. “My poor little darling,” he murmured, stroking his hair, “Daddy is so sorry. I should have paid attention to you when you said you needed to go that badly.”

John’s lower lip wobbled and he broke into a fresh round of sobs. Paul leapt from the sofa to the floor, sinking down on the carpet next to John and pulling him into a fierce embrace. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Johnny,” he whispered into his ear. He hadn’t wanted it to happen like this. When he imagined John using his nappy this way for the first time, it would have been on purpose, with John being brave and Paul there to comfort him. But to have an accident waiting for his Daddy to finish talking on the phone? That wasn’t being a responsible daddy, he was selfish and--

“It’s not your fault, Daddy,” Johnny whispered back, pulling away from the embrace slightly to meet Paul’s eyes. “I--I knew I should have asked earlier but… but I just… didn’t…”

“Why didn’t you, little love? Were you embarrassed?”

John shifted his gaze, obviously embarrassed now. “No, I… I just liked the feeling of… having to go…”

That confession brought Paul’s cock to half-mast, even as he willed it away. Though he would never admit it to John, the moment he put him down for a nap, he was going to shove his hand down his trousers and masturbate himself silly over the mental image of John squatting on the kitchen floor filling his nappy, tears streaming down his red face as he stared up at Paul. He helped John to his feet and hugged him again, his hand sneaking down to John’s bottom. He gently weighed the full diaper in his palm, and John squirmed.

“Did my little baby just want to wait until he was desperate?” Paul whispered. “That’s perfectly all right, Johnny. This is what your nappies are for, remember? It’s okay if you didn’t make it to the potty, all of your accident went right here and not your sweet onesie. But Daddy is so proud of you for being such a good boy and waiting, even if Daddy took too long.”

“But Daddy…” John’s voice broke, tears threatening to make their way to the surface once again. “You… You’re going to change me? You’re going to… See me like that?”

“Yes, my love,” Paul answered, trying to make his voice as reassuring and non-threatening as possible. “I promise that I’ll try to go as quickly as possible, and that I won’t think any differently of you. Okay?”

“O-okay.” 

Paul made John walk in front of him to the nursery, admiring the view of John’s bulging nappy drooping from the bottom of his onesie. John was forced to waddle due to the extra mass, unable to stop making his little whines of disgust and displeasure as it moved against his skin. As Paul helped him onto the changing table, it visibly dawned on John’s face that he would have to sit on his mess in order to lie down. Gingerly, he sat down as slowly as he could, expressions running the gamut from disgusted to aroused to humiliated to finally ashamed. That was the last emotion Paul wanted John to associate with this.

Paul grabbed Pandy from the crib, placing him into John’s arms and popping his dummy between his lips. “My beautiful little boy,” he whispered. “This is so natural, there’s nothing to feel bad over. Daddy is here for you no matter what, remember?”

John nodded, squeezing the stuffed panda tightly to his chest, staring up at Paul with large eyes, silently begging him to be telling the truth, to allow this little boy inside his lover to trust him completely. Paul popped open the crotch of John’s onesie, revealing the soiled nappy inside. Ever so gently, he opened the tabs and exposed John’s accident to the room. 

John whined loudly from behind his pacifier, staring at Paul with tears welling up in his eyes. Paul seemed to hear every thought John couldn’t say-- his little mindset wasn’t enough of a match for this level of shame. But Paul was determined to break through. 

“Oh my little darling, there’s no need for tears now! Daddy will take care of this, and before you know it, you’ll be right as rain!” As he talked, he gathered the filthy diaper from underneath John, taking care not to let any of the contents fall, and dumped it in the nappy bin beside the changing table. “You know, I don’t prefer that saying, how about right as sunshine? Will you be Daddy’s sunshine, Johnny?”

John giggled, the first time in what seemed like ages to Paul, and he continued the nappy change with a smile plastered over his face, even breaking into song as he wiped John’s messy bottom. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he crooned, lifting John’s legs by the ankles to clean his backside properly, “you make me happy when skies are grey…”

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…” Paul glanced at John’s face, love and contentment radiating like a forcefield, and he didn’t know how he would ever be happy without this boy by his side. “Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

“I love you, Daddy,” John whispered from behind his dummy.

“I love you too, my little Johnny,” Paul whispered back, and he made short work of finishing his task. Only minutes later, John was fastened back into his onesie and no one would have ever been able to tell his messy state from only minutes earlier. 

Though there were mild protests, John allowed Paul to usher him into his crib for an early afternoon nap, with promises of cookies to be had once he awoke. The room still smelled strongly of shit and sweet baby powder, but Paul knew that the smell of baked goods would soon permeate the house. Until, he thought with a smile, as he entered his own bedroom and unzipped his jeans, John had another accident.


	5. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which George and Ringo show up and Paul accidentally fucks things up a lil bit
> 
> Content warnings: Anal sex, urination, watersports, humiliation

Until evening fell, Thursday had been perfect. Paul learned that morning that the absolute best way to be woken up was by a very aroused and mischievous John rubbing his nappy against his cock.

“Good morning, Daddy!” John chirped. “Time to wake up!” He giggled as Paul groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to stare up at his partner.

“Good morning, my little love,” he grunted, voice rough with sleep and already aroused by John’s movements. “Did someone wake up a little excited?”

John leaned forward, whispering in Paul’s ear, “I used my nappy for you, Daddy. I woke up and I went pee-pee just lying down.” He paused to kiss Paul’s neck, rocking against his hips. “It made me feel so good… I didn’t want to wait for Daddy to wake up.”

Paul grabbed the back of John’s neck, pulling him into a searing kiss, ignoring both of their morning breath funks. John’s hips squirmed, and Paul suddenly could tell that his nappy was squishy and saturated, but he needed to _see_ it. His hands flew to the zipper of John’s sleeper, and he pushed John down onto the bed as he ran the zipper down the length of the childish onesie. The plastic panties were next, leaving John in just his yellow-stained nappy and a blush.

A wicked thought crept into Paul’s mind, and he had to force himself not to smirk. “Johnny, Daddy wants to try something new, is that okay?” Of course it was. Paul directed John onto his knees, his chest against the backboard, and Paul hovered closely above him. “Tell me if you want me to stop, darling.”

Before John could ask “stop what,” Paul had pulled the waistband of his nappy back and slipped the tip of his penis inside. As he belatedly realized what Paul meant to do, Paul’s piss was already running down his arse and pooling at the seat of his nappy. “Daddy!” John moaned, shocked and almost faint with arousal. Never in his life did John think that he and Paul would be where they were at this very moment.

“There we go, little baby,” Paul cooed. The stream tapered off gradually and Paul pulled his member back before rubbing the very wet diaper against John’s bottom, making the boy squeal. “You’re such a good little baby for Daddy,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Daddy doesn’t even need to get out of bed to use the toilet with his nappy baby here!”

John moaned and panted, thrusting his bottom back against Paul. “Daddy, I wanna be your baby forever! Please Daddy, please make me a baby again!”

Paul’s cock throbbed at those words, and he grabbed John’s in response. “You want that, little love? To be Daddy’s little baby forever? No more grown-up life, just nappies and bottles from here on out. I’d love that, my little Johnny, just a cute, overgrown baby waddling around in his wet nappies.”

John wailed, writhing in Paul’s arms. “Everyone… everyone would know, Daddy?” 

Paul paused; while he knew that exposure of this sort in real life would be devastating to John (and if he was honest, for Paul himself), but through the course of their play, he realized exactly how much John got off on the _idea_ of public humiliation. Paul was still learning to navigate the course of these dangerous waters.

“I don’t think it’d be much of a secret by that point, baby boy,” he responded, squeezing John’s piss-soaked nappy to drive the point home. “I’d imagine you’d be constantly wetting yourself without a nappy, hopefully you’d be able to keep your poopies contained, but you are _such_ a little baby, after all…”

A choked sob ripped from John’s throat, and Paul looked at him in concern, but there were no tears, and John continued not to say the safe word. He pulled back from John, but instructed him to lie on his tummy. Once he had, Paul unpinned his nappy and exposed his wet bottom to the bedroom. 

John looked over his shoulder at Paul. “Are… are you going to change me, Daddy?” 

Paul chuckled, touching himself through his boxer shorts. “I will eventually, baby. Daddy wants to show his boy how much he wants him, even after changing his poopy nappy yesterday.”

John’s eyes widened and he buried his face in the mattress. He had refused to talk about what happened yesterday, but Paul knew it bothered him. He sat down beside John with a tube of lubricant, applying a glob to his fingers and circling John’s hole with his fingertips before John opened for him. “That’s my boy,” he said, voice as warm as an embrace. “Such a good baby for Daddy, such a good little nappy baby.”

John moaned, rocking his hips into his wet nappy, so Paul continued. “It’d be heaven being your daddy full-time. Of course everyone would know, it’s not like we’d keep you indoors all the time! We’d go for walks around the neighborhood, or if you’re feeling tired, we can purchase a pram for you! Wouldn’t that be sweet, all the ladies coming up to you on the sidewalk and peering into your pram to say hello to the baby?”

“Oh Daddy, oh fuuu--oh no, Daddy!” 

Paul had moved up to three fingers, thrusting in and out of John _andante_. “It’s silly,” he said, almost conversationally, “but the fantasy I most would want to come true is the two of us in the garden, me working, you playing in nothing but your nappy on a blanket. I’d take a break to feed you a bottle and then I’d change your nappy right there in the garden, for everyone passing by to see.”

John let out a strangled cry, bucking against the bed, and for a second, Paul thought he had made him come, but then John whined, “Daddy, do me now, I can’t last!” Paul slathered his cock with lubricant and eased his way into John’s arse. 

“What would be more embarrassing, Johnny?” Paul panted, thrusting hard and fast as John squirmed beneath him. “For people to think you’re a big baby because you can’t help yourself…” He paused to grab John’s pissy nappy and grind it into his erection. “Or for them to know that you get off on it? That you _beg_ me to do this to you?”

John didn’t answer, but Paul hadn’t expected him to. He held John through the throes of his orgasm, the ruined nappy catching all his jism, and reached completion almost immediately after.

The boy was limp as a ragdoll after, so Paul carried him to the bathroom. He ran a bath, lovingly washing John’s body and paying special attention to his well-loved hole. John seemed disinterested in pursuing further relations, even with Paul’s ministrations on his private areas; he splashed and giggled as he played with his rubber duck and other floating bath toys, Paul’s actions a mere distraction from his fun.

Paul realized that their week together grew longer, John was acting more and more childish for longer stretches. Not childish in the negative connotation it’s usually given, but preoccupied with play to the extent of not hearing Paul when he spoke, looking to Paul for permission and guidance to even do the simplest of things, and constantly seeking Paul’s company and touch, curling around his daddy and content to do nothing but sucking his thumb or dummy, listening to Paul’s heartbeat. 

Even when it came time for John’s agreed-upon “adult time,” he was disinterested this Thursday afternoon. “Are you sure?” Paul asked, trying not to sound too pleased. “I won’t let you have it later, if you change your mind.”

John shrugged, flipping to the next page in his coloring book. “I know. I wanna keep doin’ this though. Where’s my green crayon?”

Cuddling on the sofa after their dinner, Paul thought it truly had been a perfect day. The empty bottle of milk sat on the coffee table beside them, and John now suckled on his dummy as he lay in Paul’s arms. The only thing in the world that could have broke them from their peaceful position would be the intercom at the front gate. It could be said that when life seems too peaceful, life will do its best to disrupt it.

The intercom buzzed and the couple nearly jumped out of their skins. “Are you expecting someone?!” John demanded, dummy falling out of his mouth and into the sofa cushions. His face was pale, eyes darting back and forth between Paul’s face and the insistent buzzer.

“It’s probably a bloody fan,” Paul growled, rushing to the intercom, intent on telling the person on the other side off. “Now list--”

“Paul! Let us in, the girls must be on their dinner break, we’ve got a clear shot!”

Paul’s stomach fell to the soles of his feet. “George? What are you-- Who’s us? Why are you here?”

“I knew you weren’t listening to me yesterday!” Paul could almost hear his younger friend’s eyes rolling. “Ritchie and I wanted to go over the new song with you and John, that was the whole thing! You said we could come over tomorrow and work on it.”

“I--I did?” Paul strained his memory, trying to think back to exactly what he could have said to bring about the very thing he didn’t want.

“Yes,” George drawled, dragging the word out by several syllables. “You said that was fine, that would be just fine. Now are you going to let us in, or do we need to scale the perimeter?”

“No, no… Come through.” Perhaps this is how a king feels when he’s forced to open the gate for the invading army, Paul thought as he pressed the button to let two men he called friends inside his little kingdom. There was still time to save the treasure though.

John still sat on the sofa, spine ramrod straight with fear. “Darling,” Paul said, trying his very best to keep his voice calm. “We’re going to clean all this up very quickly, then you’re going to run upstairs so you can change, okay? George and Ringo are going to be here in just a minute or two so they can work through the new song with us.”

“But… But…” John’s voice broke as he looked between Paul and the various baby things strewn about the living room. 

“I know, I know, honey, but we’ve got to hurry, they’ll be here any second!” He stood John up, all of a sudden hideously aware of exactly how babyish John looked in his corduroy shortalls and how much there was to hide. He ran around the room, grabbing toys, picture books, and whatever else he was able to put his hands on, loading them into John’s arms, topped with the empty baby bottle.

There came a loud knock at the door, and John whined loudly, eyes filling with tears as he looked at the pile in his arms and back at Paul. “Daddy, please…” he whispered. 

“Go upstairs,” Paul said firmly. “Put this stuff in the nursery. I’ll be up in a minute to help you change.”

“But Daddy--”

“Go!” Paul barked, and John shrank back before turning and running up the stairs, his thickly-diapered bottom more apparent than ever. Fuck. He could hit himself for being that brash with John; he had never once raised his voice in anger with his little boy, only for the purpose of the game. They would have to reconcile later, George and Ringo were still waiting at the door.

“Thanks a lot, Paul,” Ringo said as the two entered Paul’s house, armed with George’s guitar and Ringo’s bongos, the most portable of his drums. “I supported you when George said you weren’t listening to your conversation yesterday, and now I have to pay George five pounds!”

“Haha, I’ll give it to you, Rings, it’s all on me,” Paul said, forcing himself to be jovial and only marginally succeeding. “Make yourselves comfortable, I sent John upstairs to find our guitars, and I better check to see how he’s coming.”

Ringo and George exchanged a knowing glance, and Paul blushed. He and John certainly weren’t public about their relationship, but they weren’t too private either. Especially with two close friends who also happened to be in extreme proximity for the better part of each year, who have had far too many adjoining hotel bedrooms with paper-thin walls. Details were scant, but no one had pressed for more, so John and Paul didn’t divulge. But, maybe in this case…

“Ah, fellas…” Paul cleared his throat, not sure what he was about to say. “If John… If John seems to be acting a little _off_ today, well, it’s all right, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean ‘off’?” George asked, a frown creasing his handsome face.

“It’s nothing, really,” Paul blurted out. “Just if he seems a little, uhm, emotional, I guess. It’s okay, we’ve just been having a week here together while we’re off, and we really weren’t expecting to see anyone. Of course that’s my fault! He just… We weren’t expecting it.”

“All right then,” George said slowly. “Emotional… how?” He settled onto the sofa, where not minutes before John had laid in Paul’s arms, suckling milk through a rubber nipple. “Paul?”

“Just, uh… It’s hard to explain. But let me go check on him, okay?”

The door to the nursery was closed, nondescript as any in the hallway, but through the wood paneling, Paul could just hear John’s muffled sobs. As he opened the door, John’s head shot up, terrified of who it could be. He sat splay-legged on the floor, tears streaming down his face as he cradled his stuffed panda close to his chest, and Paul went to him like a homing missile, propelled by love and the shame he felt for making his little boy endure this.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, sinking into the carpet and pulling John close to him. “They didn’t see, they don’t know…”

“Why are they here?” John sobbed. “I don’t--I don’t--”

“When George called yesterday,” Paul started, “when you had your… little accident…” John winced at that. “George wanted to tell me that he and Ringo wanted to go over the new song, practice it with us. I wasn’t listening and I told him it was fine, and now… they’re here. I’m so sorry, my little love. This is all my fault.”

“Make them leave,” John insisted, his hands fisting the fabric of Paul’s shirt in a desperate way. “I don’t want them here, make them go!”

“I can’t do that, Johnny,” Paul whispered. “They’re our friends, and it would look suspicious if I kicked them out. You can do this, they won’t be here for more than an hour or two.”

John’s lower lip wobbled, a fresh wave of tears just behind the threshold. “But… But… what if I mess up? What if I call you Daddy in front of them? Or start sucking my thumb? Or, or even…”

“Don’t think like that,” Paul interrupted. “You’re my brave boy, and you can do this. It’s something you do every day, and you can do it again now.” He stroked John’s hair, racking his brain for something to say that would calm his boy. “George and Ringo are our _friends_, John. Even if you do slip into being little, they’re not going to hate you or judge you.”

“They’ll laugh at me,” John whispered, and at that moment, Paul wished he could be strong enough to go downstairs and push his friends out, niceties be damned. If he believed what he said to John, he’d know that they wouldn’t hate him… But Paul couldn’t do what he was asking John to-- to swallow his fear and step up for the one he loved. 

“If they laugh at you,” Paul said, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’ll kick them out on the streets. I’ll kick ‘em in their boney arses if they even think of laughing.”

John let out a burst of laughter, surprised, and it made Paul smile too. He stood and offered John his hand. “Come on, let’s get you changed.”

Paul quickly stripped John of his childish costume and still-dry nappy, and retrieved the slightly wrinkled jeans and t-shirt John wore on his first day. He handed them to John, who just stood there, awkwardly, until it dawned on Paul that John expected him to dress him. Paul took the clothes back.

“I’ll do this part,” Paul said, pulling the t-shirt over John’s head, “but I can’t take care of you like this downstairs. Not like a Daddy, okay? Just like Paul.”

“I know… Paul.” 

His name sounded strange on John’s mouth now. In short order, John was dressed and looked all of twenty-five, but his demeanor was still softer, quieter than normal. He almost hugged in on himself, instead of his usual outward projection (or illusion) of confidence. “Hey,” Paul said, gently. “Two hours, at most, okay? Then we’ll come right back here.”

John managed to give him a shaky smile, nodding, and Paul pulled him into a bear hug, inhaling deeply. Even no longer diapered, John still smelled strongly of baby powder. With shaking knees, the two Beatles walked downstairs to meet the others.

“Johnny!” Ringo bellowed as they entered the living room. “As you live and breathe! Have you been at Paul’s this entire week? I kept calling your house, and the phone did nothing but ring. I assumed you must have slipped and fell until George said you were probably here.”

“Yeah, um, I’ve been here,” John murmured, and the other two boys’ raucous attitudes instantly quieted. John was typically the rowdiest and loudest of them all, and it seemed when he was quiet, the rest of them were too.

“Drinks, anyone?” Paul said. He desperately needed a drink.

George and Ringo signaled their affirmatives, but John held back. He looked at Paul as if to seek permission, and Paul could have nearly throttled him. “John, I’ll take that as a yes then?”

“Oh! Um, yes?” He gave a weak laugh, and Paul immediately wished he could throttle _himself_ for being mad at his boy. Of course he would hesitate, alcohol is technically off-limits for him. After he tried so hard this week to adhere to Paul’s direction, here he was having to put himself back together in no time at all, and in front of other people, no less. He gratefully accepted the drink Paul gave him, taking a large gulp as soon as it was in his hands.

“Tell me what about the song you wanted to work through,” Paul said to George. Work was good; work would distract John from everything else happening. Though the other boys were aware that Paul had a large music room they could work in, Paul purposefully neglected to invite them to work there, mentally cataloging all of John’s baby toys and supplies there could be in each room of the house. He settled in next to John on the loveseat, playing with the hair at the back of his neck in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Oh, it’s the timing more than anything,” George replied. “Now it goes like this, right? _I’ve just seen a face/I can’t forget the time or place_\--”

“It’s faster,” John said, and Paul’s heart felt like it could burst with love for his boy, for being so brave. “More like _da-da-dadada_ than _da-da-da-da-da_. Right, Da--Paul?”

“Right.” He took a large sip of his own strong drink, while reaching over to take John’s hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

***

Though the original source has been lost in the annals of time, the sentiment always rings true: drinks were a bad idea. One drink had easily turned into two, two into three, and after the third, Paul had lost count because George had been so generous as to bring his pot along with him. Their guitars and Ringo’s bongos had been long forgotten, as the four boys laughed and indulged. John sat close to Paul, much more at ease, but despite Paul’s inebriated state, he still felt on razor’s edge watching John. Every so often, his thumb would rest at his mouth, but never find its way inside. Every time John spoke, he wondered if his voice really did sound higher and sweeter than usual, or if he was just imagining it. Still, George and Ringo didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, at least until George came to the punchline of his joke.

“And that’s when the Pope says,” George said with a snort, taking one more sip for dramatic effect, “‘That’s not the cardinal’s donkey, Prime Minister, that’s his mistress!’”

The three boys in the audience howled with laughter, John in particular giggling so hard he looked like he was going into convulsions. Paul should have seen it coming. John’s nappy was dry when he took it off, and he hadn’t used the loo once yet that night, even though he had refilled his glass as many times as Paul did. 

“Oh!” John gasped, and Paul’s laughter immediately died. He could smell it before he heard it, but as George and Ringo’s laughter faded, it seemed as deafening as Victoria Falls. John’s face was white with terror, frozen to his spot on the loveseat next to Paul, as urine dripped down his legs and onto his bare feet and carpet below.

“Oh fuck, oh God,” John whispered, and his face scrunched tightly as he gripped himself between his legs, attempting to stem the flow, but it was no use. Paul, George, and Ringo watched on, unable to help, as John emptied his bladder in front of them. When he opened his eyes again, he was on the verge of tears.

“Wow,” George said, finally, breaking the oppressive silence that had fallen. “I’d never thought I’d tell a joke so funny someone would piss themselves. That’s an honor, Johnny.”

John stared George square in the face, sussing him out for any sarcasm before bursting into giggles once more. Ringo stood behind him, giving him an awkward hug around the shoulders. “Don’t feel too bad, old boy,” he said, ruffling his hair. “Even the best of us have gambled and lost!” 

Paul could have kissed each of his friends on the lips for being so understanding, for making John not feel even worse. Even though John was living through something he considered to be a nightmare, he had friends who refused to bully him and only thought to keep his tears at bay. “I think that’s a sign we should call it a night, eh, lads?” he said, trying not to sound too keen to turn them away. “I’ll call you a cab, neither of you should be driving like this. John, why don’t you and I go to the other room, and I’ll help you get cleaned up?”

John nodded and stood on wobbly, drunk legs, the dark stain pooling at his crotch, streaking down his thighs, and trickling down his calves so obvious that it physically pained Paul like a dagger in the throat. Any arousal he could have had from this situation was nullified by the thought of John waking up tomorrow and remembering what happened in the horrible sobriety of morning. “Come along, darling,” he whispered in John’s ear, leading him from the room.

“Did I make a mess?” John asked, words a little slurred. “Did I--Did I mess up the chair?”

“No, darling, the loveseat will be just fine with a little cleaning, just like you.” He brought John to the bathroom, turning the taps on to run his second bath of the day. Before he started to help John undress, he took his face in his hands and gently kissed him. “You were so brave tonight, Johnny,” he whispered, his brown eyes meeting John’s as they widened in surprise, then fell to the floor in embarrassment.

“I had an accident, right there in front of George and-and Ringo,” he mumbled.

“You did,” Paul admitted, feeling cut at the wince on John’s face. “But they didn’t laugh at you, did they? They didn’t make fun of you or tease you.”

John seemed to think about it for a second, and shook his head in agreement. “No, but…”

“No buts, Johnny. We can’t change what happened. All we can do is try to clean it up.” He pulled the shirt off over John’s head, and peeled the wet jeans off his thighs. Despite his reassurances to John, he felt like he was being eaten alive by the guilt of making John do this, being responsible for him humiliating himself in front of their friends.

He deposited John into the tub, making sure he had all of his toys, as well as a big glass of water to drink to help him sleep later. “I’m going to call the cab and make sure the lads get out safely,” he said quietly. “Will you be alright in the bath by yourself? I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

John scoffed and hiccupped a tiny bit. “‘Course I’ll be alright, I’m not a baby.”

Paul called a cab to come as quickly as possible, and headed back downstairs to find George and Ringo diligently cleaning the sofa cushion and carpet. “Guys!” he gasped. “You don’t have to do any of that! I’ll take care of it, please, just relax until the taxi arrives!”

“It’s no problem, Paul,” George said, squeezing his shoulder gently, the way Paul squeezed John’s hand earlier. “We realize you’ve got your hands full with John, so we wanted to help you clean this up before there was a stain.”

Paul blushed, as if he was the one who wet himself. “It’s really not-- You don’t-- John and I--”

“You don’t have to explain,” Ringo interrupted, popping up from the carpet. “Please. You really don’t.”

Paul opened his mouth, like he would try to continue, but thought better of it. “Thank you,” was all he said before the intercom buzzer sounded. “That’ll be the cab.”

Ringo walked out first, palm slapping against the skins of his drums in a steady rhythm as he walked over to the gate. George paused, and gave Paul a hug while they stood in the doorway.

“What was that for?” Paul asked, a confused smile on his face, but George didn’t return it. George had been carefully but none too subtly been avoiding Paul’s gaze all night, and ever since Paul had returned from attending to John, he’d had a slight flush creeping up his neck.

“It’s just-- I’m not sure how to say it but… Ah, fuck it.” He pulled something small out of his pocket and placed it into Paul’s hand. Paul’s heart stopped as soon as he felt it-- John’s dummy.

“It had fallen into the sofa cushions,” George explained. “Ringo didn’t see it.”

“So you know,” Paul croaked. He had sworn to protect John’s secret, but he couldn’t. George would hate them, quit the band, tell everyone that they were--

“Could I do it too maybe?”

“You what?” Paul blinked, his train of self-hating thoughts derailed by that single sentence. “I don’t… What?”

“I’m sorry, that’s too much to ask, I knew it would be,” George rushed, looking properly chagrined. “It’s just… Fuck, watching John tonight, I didn’t know he could be like that. I didn’t figure it out until I saw, uhm, that.”

“And you want to… join us?” Paul’s confusion was slowly blossoming into amusement and arousal; Paul had always had a little bit of a crush on his younger friend, particularly now that he had grown into such a handsome man, but he never thought George had any interest in anything other than penis-in-vagina-or-sometimes-mouth.

“You don’t have to say yes,” George mumbled, looking towards the gate where Ringo stood, slapping out a bongo solo on the hood of the black taxi cab for a none-too-happy cabbie. “I just… I want to see what it’s like. With John like that. With you in charge.”

“I’ll have to ask John,” Paul answered, but he already knew that even if John’s answer was no, he would convince him to say yes. George’s face was the same as John’s when he first confessed to Paul that he wanted to wear nappies.

“Of course,” George said, realizing the conversation was over. “Just give me a call, ‘kay? Let me know?” He stumbled towards the taxi cab before Paul could answer.

His head slightly reeling from George’s request and all the alcohol he imbibed, Paul ran back upstairs to the bath where John currently sat, bubbles mountained around him like whipped cream in an ice cream sundae. “I added bubbles, Daddy!” he squealed, face breaking into a wide grin as soon as he laid eyes on Paul.

Even though Paul felt like he somehow failed an important test today, everything felt right when John smiled at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Paul... If you had only just fucked politeness, you wouldn't be in this mess... Don't worry, gang, they'll work it out. Georgie though! George is more or less my only switch, I enjoy him as top and bottom, big and little. I'm leaning towards one, but I'd like to know what you guys think!


	6. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul take a picnic, and George comes over for a playdate

John sat low in the passenger seat as Paul zipped through the British countryside, almost able to make out the fuzzy blur of what might be sheep through his glasses. Despite Paul’s repeated attempts to get him to sit up straight, John refused, on the grounds that someone might see him. Paul thought it better to argue; getting John out of the house was no small feat in itself.

The second John opened his eyes that morning, things were okay. In the second after that, the memories of all that had transpired the night before came crashing down on him, along with a splitting headache. His worst fear had come true, he had wet himself like a child in front of his friends and bandmates. How could they look him in the eye and not smirk, knowing what they did? 

“Johnny.” John started at Paul’s whisper and the gentle fingertips on his shoulder. He looked over at his lover, who met his gaze with wide, still sleepy eyes. “Lovey, don’t cry… It’s okay, really…” John hadn’t realized he was crying until Paul brushed the teardrops from his cheeks.

“Paul, they, they… George and Ringo, they saw…” His words caught in his throat and escaped as a sob. Paul immediately pulled John to him, kissing his hair and whispering “it’s okay” as many times as he could until John listened. 

“I wish I could just hide forever,” John sobbed, burying his face in Paul’s shoulder, soaking his pajama top with his tears. “I don’t ever want to see anybody again, I don’t ever want to go outside again.”

“Oh, love,” Paul whispered, stroking John’s thick hair back. “You don’t mean that… Do you remember how George and Ringo reacted last night? They didn’t laugh at you, and they didn’t afterward either, once you were in the bath. They made a special point to tell me that they didn’t want you to think that they were.”

“They’re lying,” John muttered, sniffling pathetically, but he didn’t sound too emphatic.

“They weren’t.” Paul gently rolled John onto his back and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table to wipe at John’s nose. The paternal gesture didn’t go unnoticed, and John blushed as Paul ordered him to “blow,” but obeyed without fuss. Even with last night, and the tears this morning, John still seemed eager to continue their game. 

“I want to do something special for my baby today,” Paul said, making John’s blush deepen. “Do you want to keep playing? We don’t have to.”

“I don’t deserve anything special,” John whispered. “I couldn’t even control myself for a few hours last night. I’m such a--”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Paul snapped, cutting John off before he could say another self-deprecating word. “None of that now! That was _my_ fault last night, John. I’m supposed to be in charge here, but I forced you into a situation that you weren’t in the right state to be in. You should have had time to decompress from our game… I should have listened to you, Johnny. I shouldn’t have made you go downstairs last night.”

John opened his mouth, then closed it again, before opening it to say in a tiny voice, “Thank you, Daddy…” Paul’s heart ached for the boy in front of him, so obviously not expecting to be told that Paul was in the wrong. 

“Do you trust me, Johnny?” Paul asked, taking John’s hand in his.

“Of course I do,” John said. He didn’t hesitate a moment. That’s how after John’s morning nappy change and breakfast, John and Paul found themselves going through every piece of John’s new wardrobe to select something childish that wouldn’t necessarily draw attention to themselves and especially to John’s disposable nappy. They finally settled on an oversized pastel-colored sweater, the hem coming down past John’s butt and the sleeves grazing over his fingers, and a pair of jeans that John had brought at the beginning of the week. Though John constantly looked down at himself in fear, positive anyone could look at him and see his secret, Paul wouldn’t have been able to tell had he not taped John into his nappy himself. With a picnic basket tucked under his arm, he led John out to the car, and without stopping to talk to any of the girls, drove them through the gate and off into the countryside.

“I think this is the spot,” Paul said, as he pulled the car over to a small dirt car park. 

John got out, kicking a small dirt clump awkwardly, playing with the ends of his sleeves. “Are we going to have to hike? I didn’t agree to that.”

“Do you trust me, darling?” 

John groaned, but returned Paul’s smile and let Paul take his hand, leading him into the sparse woods down a dirt path worn by years of humans trampling over the land. Though there were only two other vehicles at the car park, John looked around nervously, expecting someone to rush through the thicket to denounce their sins, but there was no one, save the squirrels and birds that rushed from their all too human noise. John squeaked as a rabbit ran by, squeezing Paul’s hand in excitement. “Did you see the bunny?!” he exclaimed, then blushed as he realized what a childish thing that was to get excited over.

“I did see it!” Paul answered, squeezing John’s hand in response, and John instantly lost his embarrassment over his exclamation. Paul prattled on about how much he loved rabbits, how adorable they were, how he’d love to have a bunny as a pet, and John inwardly scolded himself for being insecure with Paul, even now. Some parents only humored their children, praising their most mediocre creations and patronizing their interests; some parents refused to even do that much. Paul was genuine with John, whether in matters of the band or matters of the heart and anything John said to him, he would treat it with as much importance regardless of the subject. Paul would treat a coloring book with the same significance as the Magna Carta.

It took nearly half an hour walking slowly down the makeshift trail for them to finally reach their destination; it could have gone faster, but John took the time to grow more comfortable in the world as Paul’s little boy. They stopped every few minutes to admire a flower or a tree, for John to chase the squirrels, and then for Paul to chase John, growling and lunging playfully while the boy screamed in delight at the pursuit. They finally came to the place Paul had envisioned, a meadow made of rolling hills, its long grass braided with flowers. “It’s beautiful,” John whispered, slightly out of breath from their last game of chase. “I love it here, Daddy.”

Paul just managed to smile even though his heart bloomed open like a flower. “I thought you would, my little love. My parents took me and Mike here when we were little, and it’s one of my favorite memories. I wanted to take you somewhere, like this, so… So you know…”

For as romantic of a man Paul was, those feelings could be difficult to express when the recipient of those feelings was standing right in front of him. John knew though, and he leaned forward to meet Paul’s lips in a tender kiss. “I do know,” he whispered against Paul’s mouth. “I love you too.”

Paul set up the blanket and picnic lunch as John picked a bouquet of wildflowers. After they gorged themselves on the sandwiches, fruits, and cakes that Paul had packed for them, Paul put his talented fingers to good use, skillfully weaving the prettiest of the flowers John had picked into a flower crown, placing it upon John’s head and declaring him, “Prince Johnny!”

John’s cheeks flushed, and that bit of color made the flowers across his auburn hair even lovelier. “Glad the lads can’t see this,” he murmured, flashing a toothy grin, and Paul’s heart fluttered as he knew what he had to discuss with John.

“Johnny,” he started, unsure of where to go. “How… How did you know that this, you know, _this_, was what you wanted?”

John’s fingers disappeared back into his sweater sleeves, fidgeting nervously like he usually did when put on the spot. “I didn’t for a long time,” he said, forcing himself not to shy away from Paul’s eyes. “I always _kind_ of did, but in Hamburg, I saw a man in a brothel wearing a nappy, getting led around by one of the girls, and well…” He let out a forced chuckle and Paul took his hand.

“What if we had never started doing this?” Paul asked, furrowing his brow. “How would you have felt?”

“Like I had before, I suppose. Like I constantly wanted something, something horribly shameful, and I couldn’t say anything because no one would understand it. I’d have eventually probably started to pay someone to do it if I never met anyone else.” John looked visibly uncomfortable admitting this, and Paul steeled himself for what would surely be even more uncomfortable.

“Darling, the reason I’m asking you these things is… Last night as George and Ringo were leaving… Do you remember what happened to your dummy when they showed up?”

John racked his brain to recall, trying to ignore the more recent and satisfying memory from before bedtime, Paul popping the dummy in his mouth before pinning him into his thick cloth nappy, accepting the dreadful image of the pacifier falling between them on the sofa and into the thick cushions. Heart racing, he said, “Th-they didn’t--?”

“George found it,” Paul said, trying to sound as soothing as possible to shield John’s tender feelings, but it was of little use. John’s face turned a bright red, humiliated at the thought of George holding his adult-sized pacifier in the palm of his hand. Wetting his pants he could always lie about, and he was particularly soused last night so it could be believable, but there was no lie he could tell about a custom-made dummy. 

“You said they didn’t know!” John screeched, his head whirling with the horrible things George must be thinking of him. John had always given George a hard time for his age, younger than all three other Beatles, but now George, the “baby of the group,” had first-hand knowledge of that the pot indeed called the kettle black. “You _lied_ to me, you said--”

“Johnny, George wants to _join_ us,” Paul blurted out and John stopped as if he had been frozen in place.

“He what?”

“He--He found it, and gave it back to me, and then he… He asked me if he could do it too.”

John looked at him, suspicion written all over his face, but Paul’s blush confirmed that he wasn’t lying. “He wants to… Play with us? He didn’t say why? Or--”

“No, no, he didn’t say anything about why, just that… He didn’t know you and I could be like that. And I think he liked it. I think last night for George was like that night in the whorehouse for you, he didn’t know that someone _could_ do that.” Paul paused to light a cigarette; he had to try several times because his hands were shaking badly. “I told him that I’d have to ask you before I told him anything.”

John had always liked George-- part of the reason he teased him so much was because of that affection. He and Paul had of course discussed their bandmates in this nature, both of them agreeing that if either George or Ringo expressed a desire to do so, they would welcome them to their bed, but only John and Paul together. John would be loath to admit it, but the thought of Paul loving any man the way he did John was enough to make the boy see red. The thought that another man could be interested in _him_ never registered in his mind. 

“I don’t know,” John whined, curling up onto the blanket pathetically. “I don’t… I don’t want anyone to see me like that.”

“I know, honey,” Paul said automatically. “It’s just that George knows already. And he… Johnny, the way he looked last night, admitting that he wanted to join us, he looked like you telling me that you wanted to wear nappies.”

John’s cock twitched in said-nappy, and he suddenly felt guilty for not being magnanimous enough to share this experience with one of his closest friends, the same experience he described only minutes ago as a suffocating, shameful secret. “It’s something we should do, isn’t it?” he muttered. “Let Georgie get his kicks and realize how fucked up the whole thing really is?”

“I don’t think it’s fucked up,” Paul said, a tone of hurt in his voice. “I really don’t, Johnny. It’s not usual, but there’s nothing bad about what we’re doing. And maybe George will join us once and realize he doesn’t really like it, or maybe he’ll like it more than either of us ever have. I just… I don’t want him to suffer by himself like you did.”  
John’s jealousy dissipated as he realized Paul’s desire for George to join them was less about Paul’s desire for George, but his fatherly instinct for everyone who needed to be cared for. The thought of his loved ones suffering the silence of a secret they don’t think they can share weighed on him and John knew then that no matter how long he lived, no matter how many lives he was reborn into, he would never have a better daddy than the man who sat beside on now on a picnic blanket. 

Wordlessly, John crawled to Paul and positioned himself on his lap, chin resting on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his waist. “Okay,” he whispered, “George can play with us.”

“You’re such a sweet boy, Johnny,” Paul whispered back, kissing the shell of his ear, making John shiver in delight. “You’re absolutely the sweetest, most caring boy in the whole wide world. And I want you to know that you’re in charge of what happens tonight. Anything you don’t want to do, you speak up and tell us, okay? Even if you change your mind at the very last minute, you can tell us and we’ll listen.”

“I trust you, Daddy,” John whispered. It was then John noticed the tightness in his bladder, the pulsating sensation of needing to pee suddenly consuming him. Without so much as a second of hesitation, despite being in the wide-open meadow that anyone could come across, John allowed himself to flood his nappy as he sat on Paul’s lap.

Paul could feel John’s nappy growing hot against him, and his cock sprang to attention. “Is this how much you trust me, baby?” he asked in a low, breathless voice, and grabbed John’s crotch. “You trust Daddy to change your wet nappy right here?”

John nodded, suddenly speechless, suddenly overwhelmed, and all he could think to do is nod his head dumbly and pop his thumb in his mouth. Paul giggled, and reached into the picnic basket, pulling out John’s dummy; he urged John to pull his thumb out and replaced it with the dummy. “Sorry, little love, your hands aren’t very clean! Daddy will have to give you a very thorough bath tonight, won’t he?” 

Paul gently laid John on his back and pulled a fresh disposable nappy from the basket, as well as wipes and powder. “A good daddy is always prepared,” he said with a smile and a wink as he set about removing John’s shoes and blue jeans. John seemed unbothered by the fact that he was in public, only wearing a sweater and wet diaper, he continued to suckle at his dummy, eyes big behind his spectacles as he watched Paul’s motions.

Though Paul ached through his jeans, the change was perfunctory only. John might have been at ease as Paul wiped his pubic region and arse, but Paul was paranoid of any snapping twig, stretching his ears whenever he heard what might be voices. But most importantly, John didn’t seem to desire sexual contact at that moment. The pleasure on his face was gentle, not ecstatic, and Paul felt gratification simply caring for his other half.

John was quiet on the way back to the car. Paul packed everything back into the basket, including John’s folded up used nappy, and before they stepped out of the meadow back onto the trail, Paul asked for John’s dummy back, slipping it into his pocket. He didn’t explain why, but John knew the answer deep down. That niggling fear of being seen didn’t worry him at the moment, and as they walked back to Paul’s car, one hand wrested tightly in Paul’s, the other made its way to his mouth and John sucked his thumb shamelessly as they walked through the woods.

***

Standing on Paul’s front step in neatly pressed slacks and a button-down shirt, a bottle of wine in one hand, George looked for all the world like a nice young man on a first date with a respectable young lady; certainly not a young man showing up for a night of fetishistic play with his two male bandmates.

Paul leaned on the doorway, drinking his friend in. “George, you realize you don’t have to woo us, yeah?” he teased. “We’re already in the bag, love.”

George blushed to the very tips of his ears and rushed past Paul inside. “The girls asked me why I was here again,” he said, handing him the bottle. “I just went blank, I said I took your wine home by accident.”

Paul burst out laughing, and instantly the weird air between them was broken, and they were like they’ve always been. They settled in the kitchen, where Paul uncorked the wine and poured them both glasses as George lit cigarettes for the two of them. They made comfortable small talk as the wine warmed their tongues, neither one of them sure how to broach the subject of what George was there for.

Finally, Paul cleared his throat, and said, “We need to figure out how to introduce you to Johnny like this.”

George cocked his eyebrow, mid-drag. “Not sure I follow?”

“He’s asleep right now. Usually, he takes his nap earlier in the day, but we took a drive to the countryside for a picnic, so we got back later. I typically let him have his ‘adult time’ about now, but he’s seemed less interested in it recently. I’m just not sure that he’d respond well to waking up and having you see him like that.”

Paul stopped talking only when he saw how wide George’s eyes had gotten. “How long have you done this?” he asked in quiet awe. “You really treat John like a child all day, and he lets you?”

It was Paul’s turn to blush. “It’s just this week… Well, no, we’ve been doing this far longer than a week, but we’ve never spent more than a weekend doing this before. It’s something… we both enjoy. Something that we both want.”

George shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking like he was working up the nerve to ask some very personal questions. “What… exactly are you doing together?”

Paul swallowed hard, and his hands shook as he took another sip of his wine, but he was determined to be honest. “John likes to be treated like a baby. I like to act as his daddy. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s not really simple at all,” George complained. “It’s sexual, right? But… how? Are you getting off pretending he’s a kid?”

“Fuck, no!” Paul’s temper flared at the insinuation. “It is not, and I repeat, is _not_ about us wanting to fuck children! I don’t-- it’s not-- look, John may act younger than he is, and I may treat him that way, but neither of us wants real children. What gets me off is _John_ doing these things, a grown man acting this way and doing things with me.”

“Okay, cor, I was just making sure! No need to bite my head off,” George muttered.

“I’m sorry, Georgie, but this is extremely sensitive for John. He’s been terrified that someone would find out, and now that you have, I’m trying to make sure he knows it’s not the end of the world, that you don’t judge him for it.”

George blushed again, ducking his head. “I’m here, ain’t I?”

“Why are you here, then?” Paul asked. “If you’re not even sure what it is we do, why did you want to be here with us?”

George ran a finger around the rim of his wine glass, obviously deliberating over his words. “I didn’t know John could be cute until last night,” he said finally. “I’ve known him since I was fourteen, and he’s always been a cocky prick.” Paul smirked at the redundancy, but George waved him off. “Last night, he was vulnerable. The way he acted made me just want to… Scoop him up! And you, the way you took care of him…”

Paul smiled self-effacingly, trying not to appear like he was gloating too much. “He is cute like this, isn’t he? His emotions are all right there on his sleeve, and it doesn’t take much for him to cry. It breaks my heart when he does, but I can take him in my arms and tell him everything’s okay until he finally calms down.”

“Does he… does he really act like a baby?”

“Mmm, yes and no? A lot of it is playacting, for both of us, some of it is John becoming comfortable to act more like a child, but sometimes, when he’s in a particular state of mind, he does act like a baby. That’s something that’s really only come out of this week.”

“But… it is sexual?”

Paul took another large sip of his wine. “Yeah. But not always. I may be the daddy, but Johnny’s in charge. If he doesn’t show any interest in that, I won’t pursue it. He usually does, but not so much when he’s in that little state of mind.”

The two men were silent for several moments, both of their minds filled with images of John, until George cleared his throat. “How can I be introduced then, to make John feel comfortable with my presence?”

***

“Time to wake up, darling.” John blinked and smiled at his daddy before letting his mouth drop open in a wide yawn. Paul lowered the rails of John’s custom made crib, and sat beside John on the thin mattress. His fingers sneaked past the leg bands of John’s onesie and stroked the front of his nappy. “Still dry! What a big boy I have, staying dry through his nap!” 

John squeaked, embarrassment fading fast as he soaked in the praise, cock growing hard at Paul’s words, and he attempted to rock against Paul’s hand. “Ah-ah, baby,” Paul scolded, pulling his hand away. “None of that right now. We have a very special guest here.”

John gasped, shooting upright in the crib, looking around the nursery to see if George was there with them, witness to the whole humiliating exchange, but the room was empty.

“George is downstairs,” Paul explained, taking John’s hand. “I wanted you to take the time you need to be ready to see him. You’re not always, ah, totally rational when you wake up, Johnny.”

John grinned, despite his nerves. “Can’t help myself, Daddy,” he said cheekily. “Whenever I see you first thing, I can’t believe my dreams didn’t just come true.”

Paul’s mouth dropped open, half-laughing, half-blushing as he processed the incredibly sweet, incredibly corny thing the love of his life just said to him. John giggled and kissed Paul gently. “I wanna do this, Daddy,” he whispered. “I know you want it, but I do too. If Georgie wants to play, I--I wanna play with him.”

“You’re such a brave boy,” Paul whispered back, pulling John close to him, “such a brave, beautiful boy. Would you like to change? Maybe take a bath first?”

“I don’t wanna bath!” John whined. After all this build-up, he was eager to go downstairs and greet George, instead of dragging it out. He was only partially aware of how little he was acting without the intention of doing so. Paul certainly did though and smiled knowingly, much like any parent with a petulant child.

“You’ll certainly have one later,” Paul said, standing up from the crib. “Let’s at least put on a special outfit for Georgie, hm?”

As Paul dressed him in his adorable sailor suit, John’s heartbeat began to accelerate. His bottom stuck out enormously in the little blue shorts, and he crinkled with every step. Instead of the shiny black shoes you would typically see with a little boy’s sailor suit, John wore soft-knit blue booties on his feet. He looked so silly, George would burst out laughing the moment he saw him. He was almost near panic when Paul said, “Last touch! Open up!” John tore his eyes from the mirror to see Paul holding his matching blue dummy in his hand, a long clip attached to the end so as to pin it to the front of John’s outfit.

He wanted to cry and whimper and tell Paul that he just couldn’t do this, but the twinkle in Paul’s eye told John that if George so much as looked at him funny, Paul would throw him out on his ear. His daddy would protect him. So he swallowed his fears and opened his mouth, allowing the rubber bulb to rest on his tongue before sucking vigorously. It was rather soothing.

“You look adorable,” Paul gushed, attaching the clip to John’s chest. “I had a long talk with George while you were napping, my little love. He knows that everything that happens here _stays_ here, and if he even thinks of hurting your feelings, he’ll be gone. Out on his bottom!”

John giggled from behind his dummy, and Paul took his hand, slowly leading him out of the nursery and down the stairs to where George waited on the edge of his seat, standing to attention when they entered the room. John wasn’t wearing his glasses and struggled to see the expression on George’s face until they got closer; it wasn’t an expression of disgust or amusement, but one of lust. John’s face immediately went from a bright pink to a flushed red, and his cock reacted similarly. 

“Hi, Johnny,” George murmured. “I’m… Your Uncle Georgie? Do you remember me?”

John nodded shyly, not bothering to take the dummy out. Paul answered for him, “Of course Johnny remembers his Uncle Georgie, he’s just a little shy. He also just woke up from his nap, so it takes him a little while to really wake up. I should go get a bottle for him, he likes one after he wakes up.”

John whined at that revelation as George’s mouth dropped into a wide, astonished grin. “A bottle? A real baby bottle?”

“Of course! What else would I give my baby his milk in?” Paul teased. He turned back to Johnny, voice morphing into his Daddy tone, “Maybe Johnny will show Uncle Georgie some of his drawings while Daddy gets his milk, hm? I think Uncle Georgie would like that!”

“He’s right, Johnny, I would like that,” George said with a smile, approaching the other boy slowly, as if he may spook. 

“O-okay,” John said, muffled by the pacifier. He dropped to his knees and pulled down his stack of drawings from the coffee table, spreading them out along the carpet for George to examine. He got so caught up in organizing his art, he didn’t even realize Paul had left them alone until he had finished.

“These are good, Johnny!” George said. “I’ve always liked your drawings. Is this one Paul?”

John nodded, feeling slightly more comfortable. He took the dummy out, charmlessly wiping the dribble that fell onto his chin away with the back of his hand, unconcerned with how immature he looked. “That one is Daddy. This one is Ringo.” He pointed at a picture of an unfortunately large nose on a pair of legs, and George erupted into giggles.

“Oh, Johnny, that’s not very nice!” he scolded. “Ringo is much more than a nose on a pair of legs! He’s also got a really big nob.” He managed to keep a straight face for about one second before the two of them bust out giggling together.

“This one is _actually_ Ringo,” John admitted, pointing at another picture, this one much more subtle and more to the drummer’s likeness. “And… this one’s you…”

“I love it,” George said, tracing the crayon trails on the paper. “Really, Johnny, I think this is the best picture of meself I’ve ever seen.”

John flushed once again; he’d almost gotten used to Paul praising him, but George doing it as well? It was almost an overload, too much precious love directed at him. Paul came back to the two of them lying on their bellies, John talking a little too loudly and a little too excitedly.

“George? Would you like to feed the baby his bottle?”

Delightful humiliation ran through John’s body, and his cock stiffened. They both got up from the carpet and George sat on the sofa. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, I’ve never done this before,” he confessed.

Paul smiled patiently. “It’s pretty intuitive. Just pay attention to how quickly the milk is flowing, you don’t want Johnny to choke.” He took John’s hand and led him over to George, urging him to sit on his lap.

As John wriggled and adjusted himself on George’s bony knees, George’s face knitted in confusion. “Johnny? Are you… are you wearing a _nappy_?”

Paul smirked as he took a drink of his wine. George was a pretty good actor when he wanted to be. Of course he had divulged the secret of John’s nappies-- they wouldn’t have been able to keep that quiet very long anyway. He had also shared with George how aroused John got over being gently teased, the squirming and embarrassed arousal that brought a flush to John’s face and a slightly glazed look in his eyes.

John shifted on George’s lap again, tears only two degrees away. This was it, this was when George finally started laughing at him. But the laughter never came. George cupped his padded bottom, smiling like a fox in a chicken coop. “I fully support this,” he murmured, giving John’s bum a squeeze for good measure. “We all saw what happens when you’re _not_ wearing nappies.”

John whined as the other two laughed, and George nudged the nipple of the baby bottle against John’s lips. “Come on, baby Johnny,” he said, “Your daddy says you like to drink your milk after your nap!”

Paul sat beside them on the sofa, urging George to sit back further into the cushioned back. “That’s it, Georgie, you just want to cradle him like so… There you go, see how easily the milk flows when his head is tilted back like that?”

“He’s precious,” George murmured, stroking John’s thick hair as the boy stared up at the two of them, eyes wide and curious. “I can see why you’d want a whole week of this. Having John like this, so vulnerable, so dependent on you.”

“Well, it isn’t just for me, y’know,” Paul said, reaching out to play with John’s hair as well, his fingers brushing against George’s. “I think it helps John to act like this from time to time. Remember what a terror he used to be?”

George snorted and John desperately wished he could be swallowed by the sofa. “Oh Christ, remember the time he cut up that girl’s dress while you were fucking her? I thought he must have been mental, but I should have realized he was just acting out because he wanted attention. That’s exactly what a little boy with a crush would do.”

Paul laughed, his fingers gliding from John’s hair to George’s hand. George didn’t flinch or move away, he simply smiled back at Paul. “He was in need of discipline. A strong hand to keep him in line. But he needed to be taken care of with love and affection more.”

John whined as the milk continued to flow into his mouth, and bucked his hips, indicating his desire for a strong hand to touch him between the legs. “Aw, do you want someone to play with your little cocklet, darling?” Paul chuckled, and John screwed his eyes shut in humiliation, cheeks blazing pink. “We won’t be having any of that right now. I’ve ordered food for us, and it should be here any minute.”

“Oh, what’d you order, Paul?”

“Chinese place, the one with the big dragon out front. The man on the phone said that they should--” Paul was interrupted by the buzzer and he jumped to his feet. “Ah! That should be them. George, when Johnny finishes his bottle, just put him over your shoulder and burp him, all right?” With that, he turned about-face and strode out of the living room, leaving the other two alone.

“There we go, Johnny,” George encouraged, “you’ve almost finished it, what a good boy! He was a thirsty baby boy, wasn’t he?” John giggled despite himself, the milk gurgling a little in his mouth, and George laughed too. “You really are a baby, aren’t you, Johnny boy? You love all of this stuff.”

The bottle was empty and pulled from John’s lips, and John quickly found himself maneuvered on George’s lap, straddling his leg while George patted his back. “Are you going to do it, Johnny?” George whispered into his ear. “Are you actually going to burp like a--”

John interrupted him with a loud burp, going red to the tips of his ears as George burst into peals of laughter. “I can’t believe that actually works! You’re such a baby, oh my God!” John knew his Daddy had given him a strict order not to, but hearing those words, it was like a flip was switched in John’s brain and now all he needed was contact, all he needed was release, he needed to rub and hump and kiss… 

George moaned as John started to hump against his leg, the thick nappy crinkling but not coming close to masking John’s erection. He grabbed John’s arse, pulling him closer, John gasping at the contact. His face bright red and his eyes shining with unshed tears, he met George’s eyes, blinking unsteadily. “Wanna cummy, Uncle Georgie,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss his cheek gently as he started to move his hips faster. “Wanna--wanna--”

“Jesus fuck, what did you just--a ‘cummy’?! That’s the most infantile thing I’ve ever heard,” George groaned, rubbing the front of his slacks at his apparent hard-on, and that switch in John’s brain got ripped off the damn wall. That’s how Paul found them as he returned, John bouncing madly on George’s thigh, George holding his padded bottom and urging him on.

“Johnny!” Paul barked, and grabbed the boy by his collar, pulling him off of George’s lap. “What did I tell you, little boy?!”

“But Daddy, I need it!” John howled, lower lip wobbling and the paper-thin dam was just barely holding the waterworks back. His cock ached, he needed release so badly, but Paul was steadfast.

“You most certainly do not! You are just a baby, and you don’t know what you need!”

Fat teardrops ran down John’s cheeks as pathetic sobs ripped from his throat. He didn’t want to have a fit, not in front of George, but he couldn’t help it as he stamped his feet, crying and yelling, wishing he could break something. He was so distraught, he barely registered Paul grabbing his wrist and leading him back to the sofa. It was only when his shorts were ripped down, and he was yanked over Paul’s lap, did it dawn on him what was about to happen. He looked up at George, who gawped with open mouth and wide eyes, but only until the first spank landed.

“Naughty baby!” Paul grunted as John wailed and writhed in his grasp. The nappy was thick enough to deflect most of the pain from the spanking, but George seeing his nappy, seeing him take his punishment, seeing him be _bad_, stung more than any of it. 

Paul only gave him five spanks, on account of how much John had been through the last couple of days. He had been remarkably brave, and Paul didn’t really want to punish him now, but he had to stay true to his threats, or else John wouldn’t take them seriously. Watching John’s cute diapered bottom rutting against George’s thigh was an image that would keep Paul company on many lonely nights.

“Now then,” Paul said, standing John back up and wiping his wet face with a tissue, “are we going to behave ourselves?”

John nodded, still too upset to talk, otherwise his tears may start all over again. This was good enough for Paul, who led John by the hand to the dining room, George following suit. He had already laid out their food on the table. “Let’s see, we have orange chicken for George… Fried rice for me… And something special for Johnny!” 

Chicken fingers and chips. John sat, somewhat dejected as he observed the delicious Chinese food piled onto Paul and George’s plates, noticing he didn’t even have cutlery. Behind him, Paul tied a bib around his neck and George burst into giggles. 

“‘Daddy’s Messy Eater!’” George read between chuckles. “How precious!”

“We don’t want to get that adorable sailor suit dirty, do we?” Paul cooed. “Eat your dinner, little love, and I want you to drink _all_ of your sippy cup, okay?”

John raised the sippy cup to his mouth automatically, ignoring his already comfortably full bladder. George and Paul grinned at each other, then clinked their wine glasses together. “What should we toast to?” George asked. 

“To… family?”

“To family.” They clinked their glasses again and took several gulps of their wine. John picked up a chip and smothered it in ketchup. This would be a long night.

Dinner was uneventful. George and Paul discussed topics besides John: the band, other bands they liked and didn’t like, politics, the weather… John sat silently, noshing through his chicken and chips. Somehow he felt more like a child now than he did throughout most of his week with Paul, being ignored at the dinner table while the grown-ups talked. Every so often, Paul would reach over and dab some ketchup from the sides of John’s mouth with his bib, or remind John to drink his milk.

After their plates were cleared, Paul and George enjoyed an after-dinner cigarette, while John sulked, wishing he could have at least a single puff of the forbidden substance. All the while, his subtle squirming had become quite noticeable, even to George, and he nudged Paul as John shuddered and pursed his lips together in determination.

“How’s your nappy, Johnny boy?” Paul asked, reaching under the table and sliding his fingers up John’s shorts, making him jump. “Still dry?”

“Daddy!” John yelped. “Stop it, I don’t haveta go!”

“Well, in that case…” Paul stood John up, then pulled him back down on his knee, bouncing him gently. “You don’t have a problem with this, Johnny? You wouldn’t, unless maybe you needed to go pee-pee.”

John moaned as he was bounced, he could feel the milk inside of him sloshing about, and he leaked a little bit into his nappy. “Oh, Daddy, no, stop!”

George was grinning wolfishly, enjoying this after-dinner scene as heartily as one would dessert. “I think he wants you to do it faster, Paul!”

“Is that it, lovey?” Paul purred, and indeed start to bounce John more rapidly on his knee. The jostling movements and the anticipatory look on George’s face were more powerful than John’s willpower, and he flooded his nappy, the sound immediately overpowering the quiet room.

John hid his face in his hands as the men he called Daddy and Uncle laughed, squeezing the hot, wet diaper pressing against Paul’s knee. “I hope you can experience him doing this, Georgie,” Paul murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of John’s neck. “You can feel everything.”

“Should we change him now?” George sounded much too enthusiastic and John’s cock stirred at the suggestion.

Paul laughed, and roughly grasped his member through the nappy. “Usually I let Johnny play in his wet nappies a little longer, he seems to like it that way. But he appears to want a change right away tonight! Let’s all go upstairs, shall we?”

“No, Daddy, please,” John begged, pulling on Paul’s hand as he led them up the stairs, his wet nappy squishing between his thighs. “Please, I don’t-- I don’t want Georgie to see the, the… room…”

“George would see your nursery sooner or later,” Paul replied, making John want to sink into the thick carpeting as George laughed. The laughter died as soon as Paul threw open the nursery room door, and suddenly everything was on display. The crib, the changing table, the toys strewn about the floor, and even the red plastic potty, sitting in the corner for John’s inevitable use.

“My word,” George murmured, wandering the room, casually reaching out and stroking John’s adult baby items. “You two really went all out, didn’t you? No half measures.”

“It was all my idea,” Paul confessed as John blushed. “I wanted Johnny to be as comfortable as a baby could be. Come, darling, let’s take your little sailor suit off.” Before John knew it, he was naked except for his wet nappy and the dummy Paul stuck in his mouth and being led to his changing table. He felt almost that he was outside his body, watching all of this happen to himself.

As he was laid down and strapped in, Paul took George’s hand and urged him to the front of the changing table, staring down at Johnny together. “I want to teach you how to change the baby,” Paul murmured into George’s ear, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist. “Do you want me to?”

George nodded, shivering in Paul’s arms, and John felt a hot blast of jealousy even as Paul reached forward and undid the tabs on John’s nappy, exposing him. George let out a little laugh in surprise. “He’s practically hairless! Did you do this, Paul?”

“Guilty,” Paul chuckled. “He was completely hairless a few days ago, this is what’s managed to grow back. He looks cute like this, doesn’t he?”

“Fookin’ adorable,” George whispered, reaching out to tickle John’s tummy gently, forcing John to giggle behind his dummy. 

Paul took George’s hands in his, directing them to where he wanted to go. “First we take the wet nappy away and throw it in the bin,” he instructed. He tapped John lightly on the bottom, indicating that he wanted him to raise his hips, and John did so, George pulling the urine-soaked diaper from underneath him. 

“Then we take a wipe and clean him up.” Paul sounded short-of-breath, his voice half an octave lower than usual as George took a baby wipe and began to wipe down John’s pubis, carefully and attentively. “That’s it, Georgie, you’re doing very well… Be sure to wipe down his little balls there… And his bummy…” 

John moaned as George ran the cool wipe down his ass cheeks, bucking his hips in desire. George moaned as well, but when John raised his head, he saw Paul kissing George’s neck passionately, his hand down the front of George’s slacks. Instantly, his arousal went on the back burner as his intense jealousy took center stage. “Daddy!” he howled, thrashing against the thick leather strap that kept him restrained, dummy falling out of his mouth. Paul and George glanced at him, only to smirk and lock lips.

“Daddy, stop!” John wailed, writhing in his restraints. It wasn’t that he hated the sight of Paul and George together… he was just desperate to be included. They couldn’t do this and leave him out! He wasn’t just a little baby! The sudden movement of his struggling combined with his intense emotional state and the rest of the milk he drank at dinner conspired against him though. As George and Paul’s tongues met between their mouths, John bucked on the changing table but froze as a stream of hot liquid began to trickle from his penis, shortly becoming a full-on burst. His erection had double-crossed him-- instead of just puddling in one area, like the last time this had happened, the piss ran up his stomach and over his chest. 

Paul pulled apart from George with a gasp. “Oh, darling!” he exclaimed. “Oh no, darling, what happened?!”

John couldn’t respond, his humiliation too all-encompassing. All he could do was screw his eyes shut and sob. Paul and George immediately sprung into action, cleaning the accident up as quickly as possible, both of them telling John what a good little boy he was, that accidents happen and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He refused to open his eyes until the strap was undone, and he was sat up.

“Come, darling, let’s have that bath now,” Paul murmured, pressing a sweet kiss to John’s wet cheek. “I’m sorry about all of that. Daddy and Uncle George just wanted to tease you a little.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” John mumbled automatically. He refused to lift his eye line from the carpet, so Paul lifted his chin with two fingers.

“Tell me why you were so upset, Johnny,” he ordered, the iron directive covered in velvet, and John crumbled. 

“I want to be a part of it too,” he whispered, lower lip wobbling as he tried to keep his tears from reappearing. They didn’t have a chance to though; George and Paul wrapped him in a tight hug from either side, kissing his still-blushing face.

Naked, John was led to the bathroom, where Paul drew the bath and George sat on the closed toilet, placing Johnny on his knee. “I never dreamed you could be so sweet, Johnny,” George whispered, brushing the fringe out of John’s eyes. “That’s why I wanted to be here tonight… I wanted to see you acting so cute and sweet, and to see Paul take care of you.”

John squirmed, embarrassed at the compliment. “No, I--I’m not--”

“You are though.” He cupped John’s cheek and brought his face close to bring their lips together. John wrapped his arms around George’s neck and returned the kiss fully, basking in his desire. He felt a hand on his back, and he broke away to look up at Paul smiling down at them, not enviously, but admiringly. 

“That’s a good boy,” he praised. “Let’s get you in the bath so we can play, all right?”

George assisted Paul in soaping and scrubbing John, laughing and teasing one another like this was an everyday occurrence. Any obstinance he had over this development had evaporated, and he didn’t feel the same tempest of jealousy when George and Paul kissed again… He just felt like a child, being cared for by his two loving parents. 

Once dried off in a fluffy towel, their party continued to the master bedroom. John’s heartbeat accelerated as he was laid down on the bed, and the other two men lay down on either side of him. “Can we play with the baby now?” George asked Paul, slightly breathless as he ran his fingers down John’s soft body.

Paul chuckled. “Only if the baby wants us to, George…” John squeaked as Paul’s finger ran up the length of his quickly rising cock. “Does baby want to play?”

“Baby wanna play, Daddy!” John panted, and the two men grinned at each other before both ducking their heads down and kissing John at the same time. Their three-sided kiss was awkward but so intimate that John felt like his head was swimming by the time they pulled back. 

“What do you want, Georgie?” Paul murmured, stroking his friend’s hair. “I know you haven’t really done this before.”

It was George’s turn to blush. “No, but… I think I’ve got the basics down, at least. Is it… is it too much to fuck him?”

John let out a surprised moan, but Paul only grinned. “It’s fine by me, and by the sounds… and looks of it…” He ran a finger up John’s erection, making him shiver. “It should be fine with John too.”

Paul handed George a jar of lubrication while manhandling John’s pliant body to his desire, presenting on all fours, his backend to George while his face rested near Paul’s lap. He could hear George undressing behind him, and Paul rose to join him, and he forced himself not to look back, keeping his head right where Paul laid it. Even when he heard kissing and the tiny moans of desire, he maintained position.

“Get your fingers good and greasy,” Paul growled, grasping John’s hips to keep him in place. “Start him off with one or two fingers… Really get him going before you give him the main course.” John felt George’s rough guitarist fingers at his entrance and relaxed to let them in.

George moaned. “Cor, Paul, he’s as tight as anything! He’s tighter than any bird I’ve ever had!”

John moaned at that, rocking back onto George’s fingers. “Georgie!” he mewled. “Daddy! I can’t--! I can’t last, Daddy--!”

Paul resumed his position in front of John, now completely nude and visibly aroused. He pulled John’s face up and consumed his lips in a passionate kiss. “You’re such a good little boy,” he whispered. “Do you want to suck on Daddy while Georgie fucks your bottom?”

John nodded, his head spinning as Paul’s thumb urged his lower lip down as far as it could go before slipping his cock inside his open mouth. George moaned, high and breathless, from behind John, his fingers fucking him faster and harder, adding a third and then a fourth, as Paul cautiously cradled the back of John’s head in his hand and thrust in and out of John’s mouth. 

“Oh Christ, Paul,” George whimpered. John couldn’t see, but George sounded like he was about to cum. “Paul, fuck, can I--? Is he ready?”

“He’s more than ready, George,” Paul panted, reaching over John’s body to stroke George’s cheek. “Take him, he needs you.” 

John’s eyes flew shut as the head of George’s prick pushed into him, moaning around Paul’s member in his mouth. Though he didn’t see George naked, he could tell that his cock was bigger than Paul’s, and he struggled to adjust to the delicious girth. Paul removed himself from John’s mouth gently, letting him adjust to George. “You’re such a good baby,” he praised, and John opened his eyes, unfocused and bleary, cooing gently at the sweet words.

“He’s the best baby in the world,” George whispered, leaning down to kiss John’s ear. He gave a slow, experimental thrust that made John whimper and convulse, and then another. Paul groaned, low and guttural, before returning his cock to John’s mouth. They soon found a rhythm as a trio, John rocking back in time with his two partners. He had never felt so desired as in this moment.

With so much build-up, it wasn’t a small wonder none of them lasted long. George was first-- his rhythm quickly accelerated until he was fucking John senseless, and Paul extracted himself from John’s mouth in order to watch properly, stroking himself. His fingers dug into John’s hips, as he fucked him harder and harder, the smell of sweat and sounds of sweaty flesh slapping against flesh filling the room, finally gasping out John’s name as he climaxed. Paul came at nearly the same time, overcome at the expression on George’s face, as well as John’s as he felt George spend inside of him. 

George collapsed to the side of the mattress, panting heavily, and John rolled onto his back, looking up at Paul pathetically as he wriggled and begged for release. “Daddy,” he whined, a sob creeping into his voice. “Pwease, Daddy?”

Paul smiled sweetly and settled himself on the other side of John. “What do you say, Georgie? Do you want to help the baby cummy?”

George blinked, dragging himself back from far away before grinning back at Paul and John. “Of course I do, Paulie.” The two leaned down and kissed John deeply, while their hands glided down his body to his hard, leaking cock. Together, they stroked and tugged, all while kissing John’s sweaty face and whispering to him _what a good baby_ he was, how much they loved their _sweet little boy_. When John finally came, crying and trembling, they were there to hold him through it.

John felt like he must have been asleep after that, but the next morning, he had the distinct and sensitive memory of his two friends cleaning him up and pinning him into a thick, cloth diaper, as well as the comforting feeling of Paul and George on either side of him as they all settled into sleep, their strong arms wrapped around him, keeping him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Thanks for all your kind words and support, guys!


	7. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has one last little day but has to reconcile with becoming an adult once again
> 
> CW: Urination and defecation in a diaper  
Littlespace   
Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everyone! I've loved reading all of your comments (even if I didn't respond, I read them, I'm just absolutely terrible about responding in a timely manner), and I've gotten the chance to talk to several of you at length. I'm just so touched by your affection for this story and all of your kind words, and I hope this last chapter serves as a proper send-off! <3

It was a surreal feeling for John to wake up sandwiched between his two bandmates, their bodies hard against his relatively soft one. Compared to women, John hadn’t many male lovers; most of the ones he did have were quick, squalid affairs in some bar loo or alley, or a furtive lay in an anonymous hotel room. He never dreamed there could be a morning like this in store for him-- accepted, desired, wanted. He felt like a beautiful girl, the object of male desire, and he rocked himself against George and Paul’s bodies, his cock quickly growing stiff.

George chuckled in his ear, sending a shiver down John’s spine. “I think someone’s awake, Paul.”

John didn’t open his eyes just yet. He wanted to enjoy the fantasy a little longer. He continued to rock against his friends, his thumb finding its way into his mouth as his nappy rubbed against his cock. Paul shifted on the other side of him, positioning his thigh between John’s. “What a sweet baby,” he crooned, a little laugh in his voice. 

It was only then John noticed how his nappy squished around him, the usual heat nearly faded. He had truly wet himself during the night. The years of embarrassment over his condition came over him like a wave, the endless scolding and ridicule he faced from his aunt, the fear he held that anyone would find out. But Paul was here, as was George. They must have seen it, they must have felt it, but they were still here, still kissing him and fawning over him like he was the most precious thing in the world. John opened his eyes and cooed happily at Paul from around his thumb. He didn’t feel like a beautiful girl any longer, but a precious little baby, his Daddy’s pride and joy.

“There you are!” Paul giggled, pressing a kiss to John’s forehead. “Did you sleep well, my darling?”

John nodded, gradually becoming aware of Paul and George’s erections pressing against him. George moaned as John rocked his arse against him, grabbing his hips and keeping them there. “You’ve gone and wet your little baby nappy, Johnny!” he said, his hand sliding down between John’s legs to give him a good squeeze. “It’s cute that you can’t control yourself even a little bit.”

John’s face went bright red, and he shook his head as if to say no, he couldn’t control himself, even a little bit, even in his sleep. The thumb stayed firmly in his mouth, as he sucked deeply and loudly. 

“Oh hush, Georgie,” Paul scolded, pulling John closer back to him. John immediately scrambled into Paul’s open arms, wrapping himself around Paul’s warm and naked body. His beard, thick and almost fully-grown now, scratched wonderfully against John’s bare cheek, and he nuzzled his face against Paul’s, openly reveling in how much he loved his daddy.

“Paul, is… Is this what you were talking about last night? When he actually acts like a baby…?”

Paul nodded, stroking John’s thick hair as John rutted gently on him, thumb back in his mouth as the cotton cloth of his nappy rubbing wonderfully against his sensitive areas. “He’s not usually this excited,” he chuckled, patting John’s bottom. “What’s got you all worked up, hm? Did you have nice dreams about Daddy and Uncle George playing with you?”

John moaned around his thumb, humping just a little bit faster, and the two other men laughed. “I’m glad you had fun last night, little Johnny,” George murmured, kissing the back of John’s neck as he moved closer to his back. His heat was welcome and John craned his head, finally removing his thumb to kiss George. It was sloppy and too-wet, John seemingly had lost most of his coordination and finesse in his little state, but it was arousing in a different way. George felt a predatory urge in his blood, and he began to hump his own erection against John’s nappy as John continued to hump Paul.

“Uncle Georgie!” John squealed, helpless, subject to George’s motions, locked between George and Paul’s arms. 

Paul groaned, shifting against John. “Oh, if you two are going to… I should get in on this too, right?” He started rutting against John as well, and John could have cum right then, being used as little more than a sex toy for these two handsome men, but then they started _talking_.

“I’m so fucking jealous, Paul,” George panted, pausing to kiss John’s ear. “Having this precious little baby all to yourself, it’s not fair.”

“He truly is the most beautiful baby in the whole entire world,” Paul replied, stroking John’s cheek. “Even when he has a stinky nappy, he’s still my lovely little baby!”

George laughed, but cut off with a sharp gasp as Paul rocked John against his body. “I’ll never forget how he looked last night, letting me fuck his arse while you fucked his mouth. He was so ready for it, so _desperate_ for it… And at the very end, we cleaned him with baby wipes and put him in a nappy.” George kissed John’s neck again as he snapped his hips against John’s. “He’ll do absolutely anything you say, I can see that now.”

John wailed, embarrassed by George’s true statement, but Paul grabbed his face and pulled it close to his, kissing him roughly as he and George began to move in rhythm, working themselves to orgasm. Paul came first, breaking away from the kiss as he rolled onto his back, stroking himself briskly before coming; George cried out as he came, and John felt the hot, sticky semen on his inner thigh, dripping downwards. 

George fell back and John was left cold and alone. He rolled onto his back, squirming and whining, his cock aching inside his slightly uncomfortable nappy. “Daddy!” he whimpered, tugging at Paul’s shoulder. “Daddy, please!”

Paul raised his head, seeming slightly dazed after his orgasm. “Of course, my little love,” he murmured. “Let Daddy take care of this wet nappy, and then we’ll take care of your cummy, all right? George, would you like to help me?”

“Of course, Paul,” George said, and stood to fetch the necessary supplies as Paul got to his knees on the bed. As he was reaching for the safety pins that held John’s nappy in place, he paused, and his face adopted a sweetly devious expression.

“Do you have any more pee-pee in you, baby?” he teased, running his fingers up and down John’s tummy lightly. John could hear George’s sharp intake of breath from across the room, but somehow, he wasn’t embarrassed by Paul’s question. He scrunched up his face as he tried to push any remaining liquid out of his bladder, his hands balling into fists close to his head. His face turning slightly red from exertion, the quiet trickle of John wetting his nappy was obvious when it came.

John opened his eyes to see Paul and George sitting on either side of him, smiling sweetly down at him. “All empty, Daddy!” he chirped, and the other two men laughed. He wasn’t sure why it was funny, but he giggled too. Paul removed the pins from his nappy, and unfolded it, the front soaked through and stained yellow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should be humiliated as his two younger friends wiped his urine away with baby wipes, that it was shameful the way he wriggled and exposed himself as he spread his legs and let them clean his most private of places. But as George wiggled a finger inside of him, and Paul stroked his cock with a baby wipe, he couldn’t help himself as he cooed and babbled before his orgasm finally overtook him.

John was usually sleepy after he came, and being in his little state, he had no chance of fighting it and staying awake. He was out within seconds, and Paul and George finished the diapering process as quickly and as quietly as they could. Once done, they cleaned themselves, and Paul provided George with a house robe similar to the one he wore, they sneaked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

“Good fucking lord!” George exclaimed as he fell into a kitchen chair. “That was-- That was-- Something else!”

Paul chuckled as he filled the kettle and struck a match to light the stove. “That really was. That was something new. He’s never been that babyish before.”

“Really now?” George lit a cigarette, and then another for Paul, which he accepted gratefully. “Is the bedwetting part of it?”

Paul winced, realizing he would have to share John’s deep, dark secret. “That… That’s something that John used to struggle with… It’s only happened once or twice with us.”

George’s eyes were wide, as if everything he’d seen before wasn’t enough to break him of his jejune naivety. “_Really_ now!” He repeated. “John Lennon, a bedwetter?! You know, he always used to tease me about that, no matter how many times I told him I’d never wet the bed a night in me life!”

Paul took a long drag on his ciggy as he figured out what he was going to say. “It’s something no one really knows,” he said finally. “It ate him up for a long time, he thought everyone would laugh at him.”

“I mean… Fair enough.”

Paul’s head shot up, glaring, about to start shouting, but George held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, Paul! I wouldn’t, I don’t want to hurt John’s feelings like that, but people… Well, people are cruel.” He dropped his gaze, pretending to be very interested in his toes. “I’m glad that you wouldn’t either though. John needs someone sweet and kind to take care of him. I-- I get it.”

“Thank you,” Paul whispered. He wasn’t sure what else he could say. He wanted to say thank you for everything George had done the last several days, showing John that not everyone is cruel, that some people not only understand, they embrace what makes others different, and maybe those differences aren’t too dissimilar from themselves. A small part of him wished that he alone could have convinced John of that, but he knew how easily John could convince himself Paul only does it for… Whatever reason John can convince himself of.

George and Paul drank their tea and smoked cigarettes in comfortable silence. Paul didn’t bother to remind him not to speak of what had happened there to anyone, and George had no fears that his actions over the last night and morning would be revealed. After George had dressed and as he was about to leave, he paused in front of the door and pulled Paul into a deep kiss. “Invite me over for another play date some time?” he whispered, his tone playful while his eyes begged.

“Any time,” Paul whispered back, kissing his oldest friend one more time before they finally separated, George returning to the real world, and Paul retreating to spend one more day in make-believe with John.

***

When Joke woke up again, he didn’t feel any more adult than he had earlier. He yawned and stretched, instinctively searching for Paul with his hands. A hand grabbed his in return and John opened his eyes to see Paul smiling down kindly at him. “Good morning, little baby!” he sing-songed. “Did you have a nice nap?”

John giggled and nodded, clutching his stuffed panda close to his chest. “Where’s Uncle George?” 

“Uncle George had to go back home, sweetheart,” Paul answered, pushing John’s thick hair out of his eyes. “We’ll see him again very soon though. He told me to give you a big kiss before he left!” He swooped down, peppering John’s face with kisses, making the boy squeal in delight. Once he finally stopped, he was practically lying on top of John and he took him in his arms.

“What would you like to do today, my little love?” He whispered. “Anything you want.”

John hated making decisions. He only buried his face in Paul’s shoulder, whining softly. He didn’t want to do anything! He just wanted to be with Daddy. 

“Is that right?” Paul breathed, kissing the top of his head. Did John say that out loud? He didn’t think he had…

“Do you know what day it is, Johnny?” Paul asked, and John shook his head. “It’s Saturday. It’s-- our last day like this.”

John had known this, held that knowledge in a reserved part of his mind, but he refused to let it sink in right now. He only clung to Paul, needy for the love he always provided. “I just wanna be a baby today,” he whispered. “No big boy.”

Paul’s eyes widened a little, but he quickly resumed his expression of patient love. “That’s perfect, my baby,” he whispered back. “Let Daddy treat you like the little baby you are today. I’ll take care of you completely.”

John’s heart swelled-- he wished he could jump for joy, that he could run through town screaming about how much he loved his partner, but for now, all he could do was cling to Paul as he lifted him out of bed and carried him downstairs, John’s legs around Paul’s waist and Paul’s arms supporting his bottom. He felt so small in his arms, so safe, never once fearing that Paul could drop him. Paul deposited him onto the sofa and slipped his dummy into his mouth. “You wait here, little darling,” Paul instructed. “I’m going to fill up your bottle.” 

He lay back on the sofa, unconcerned that he wore only a disposable nappy, suckling happily on his baby’s dummy. The first day, he couldn’t stop feeling the invisible eyes upon him; now, it felt like second nature and that maybe no one could see him unless his Daddy allowed it. It felt like seconds before Paul reappeared with a large bottle of milk in his hand. He sat and cradled John in his arms before replacing the pacifier with the nipple of the bottle. John drank loudly and quickly, only then realizing how thirsty he was. 

“Such a thirsty baby!” Paul crooned, running a hand down John’s chest. John gurgled as the milk flowed down his throat, some of it spilling down his chin as he smiled. Paul laughed, and dabbed at it with the bib John hadn’t realized he had put on him. “That’s why we have a bib for you! Because you’re just _such_ a little baby, aren’t you?!”

John’s eyes lit up, and his hands clenched, waving them excitedly as an infant would. Delight swirled in Paul’s stomach-- this is what he had wanted for John, complete acceptance of his little side, no longer ashamed to hold back how little he really wanted to be. He had never seen John look so happy, and he would have made a deal with the devil himself to live in this moment for eternity.

Just then, John shifted on Paul’s lap and let out a small fart. Paul laughed, patting his diapered bottom. “That’s it, honey,” he encouraged. “You can let it all out, it’s okay.”

John’s face scrunched up as it had earlier, and there was a split second before Paul realized what was about to happen. Cradled on Paul’s lap, suckling on a baby’s bottle, John filled his nappy, never once breaking away or showing any sign of embarrassment. Paul was frozen in place until John finally finished with a tiny grunt. He slowly opened his eyes, staring into Paul’s face for affirmation that what he did was okay.

Paul’s trembling hand reached down and cupped the seat of John’s nappy, the heat and the weight obvious to what had just transpired. “My little baby,” he whispered, squeezing the nappy ever so slightly. “That’s what you are, you know? My little nappy baby.”

John giggled around the nipple around his mouth, continuing to drink his milk as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. He squirmed a little on Paul’s knee, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort, but Paul was achingly hard. There were no tears like before, no humiliation or shame. Over the week, John had become accustomed to using his training potty, but after the disastrous incident on Wednesday, Paul assumed it would be ages before John would even be willing to discuss messing in his nappy. But John was nothing but committed to his role as baby.

“You’re such a good baby!” Paul exclaimed, trying to distract himself from his own throbbing arousal. John had come to the end of his bottle, and Paul set it on the table before briskly turning John around in his lap to burp him, patting up and down his back firmly, just stopping at the waistband of John’s nappy, not daring to allow himself to let his hand drop a few inches lower and hold the warm, drooping seat of the diaper in the palm of his hand, feeling its weight. John let out a loud, milky belch, and Paul pulled him back to wipe his chin of any milk droplets with his bib. 

“Let’s get you changed, shall we, baby?” Paul whispered into his ear. He could swear that he saw a flash in John’s eyes, and a blush finally started on John’s chubby cheeks. “Shh, shh, love, none of that now. No need to be embarrassed, eh?”

John kept his eyes glued to Paul’s t-shirt-- he didn’t want to explain how he felt, he didn’t know if he _could_ explain how he felt. He felt so little on Paul’s lap, his handsome daddy who took care of him no matter what messes he found himself in. With little warning, John found himself scooped up in those strong arms, back in the same position he was carried downstairs in, only this time with a full nappy squishing against his bottom.

“Daddy, no!” he squealed, writhing in Paul’s arms. “No, bad!”

Paul stopped and let John down, his legs trembling slightly as he stood up for the first time that day. “If you want to be a little baby today, Johnny,” he said, in a slightly breathless voice, “you have to crawl like a little baby. Babies don’t walk like big boys.”

John’s lower lip wobbled, thinking about how long it would take to crawl up those stairs to the nursery. Would it be worse than letting Daddy carry him, feeling his messy load shift in his nappy? Before he could ruminate, or start to cry, Paul popped his dummy back into his mouth and picked him up once more, smacking John lightly on the bum when he protested.

“You’re just a baby, Johnny,” Paul explained, walking slowly up the stairs. “It’d take you much too long to crawl all the way to your nursery! Daddy doesn’t mind carrying you, even if you do have an extra load.” He chuckled at his own joke, patting John’s drooping nappy, while John buried his burning face into Paul’s neck, suckling his dummy furiously.

Paul deposited John onto the changing table, urging him to lie back and strapping him in immediately. His nappy bulged at the bottom, slightly discolored already, and Paul felt another stab of arousal. He wondered if John understood his arousal, that it wasn’t what was inside his nappy that got him worked up, but the fact that John _did_ it. Not just that he did it, but that he did it for Paul. John allowed himself to do the most babylike thing he could think of, just to make his daddy happy. His face was bright red and he kept his eyes locked on Paul as he bustled about to collect the necessary supplies. He paused at the head of the changing table, pressing a kiss to John’s forehead and pushing a small plastic toy into his hand. When he pulled back, John raised the toy to see what it was-- a child’s teething ring, made of thick colorful plastic and a rainbow of colored keys affixed around the ring. 

The adult inside of John protested as he shook the plastic toy, making the keys clack together pleasantly, and he giggled involuntarily. He did it again, harder, loving the noise, loving the bright colors of the keys, the smooth plastic underneath his fingers. He traced the teeth of the plastic keys slowly, as if trying to memorize them; he was so invested, he didn’t even notice Paul had opened his nappy until the cool air of the nursery hit his exposed privates. 

“What a sweet baby,” Paul crooned when he saw John’s expression waver. “Don’t you worry your little head about a thing, sweetheart, you just play and let Daddy take care of you, okay? Such a big mess from such a little baby!”

John giggled, despite the humiliating words. He didn’t have to be humiliated… He wasn’t an adult anymore, he was just a baby! This was normal! His daddy loved him no matter what, as he had proved time and time again. As the cold baby wipe pressed against his bottom, he squirmed but quickly returned his attention to the plastic keys in his hand, shaking them and smiling at the noise they made. Even as Paul spread his legs wide, completely exposing his most secret parts, John didn’t lose his concentration. In the most babyish position, in the most infantile situation, John let himself go further. He opened his mouth, pushing the dummy out with his tongue, and stuck in the plastic ring instead, sucking and biting tentatively.

“Fuck…” Paul whispered, staring down at the man he called his partner. John didn’t seem to notice, oblivious to anything outside his line of focus, and Paul was thrust back in time to when this all started, watching that girl on the bus wet herself. She didn’t notice him, maybe never even knew he was there, but Paul _wanted_ her to know. He had wished that he could have simply strode up to her, pulled her wet knickers down to her ankles and spanked her little bottom pink before fucking her senseless, but… the fantasy was different now. Had he been there, this older Paul, he would have taken her by the hand and walked her home, giving her his coat to wrap around her soiled mid-section, before finally taking her inside and cleaning her up. When this all started, he hadn’t known what he really wanted but this… this was it. His John, so soft and lovely and dependent on him, not ashamed in the slightest at his position, at least not anymore. If John had been that girl, he wouldn’t dream of exacerbating the situation now, but just of protecting John, of getting him home as quickly as possible and comforting him in all the babylike ways he loved. The ways _they_ loved.

“I love you, my baby,” Paul murmured, pressing a soft kiss to John’s raised knee. John didn’t seem to notice, taking the plastic ring out of his mouth to run his fingers over the multi-colored keys once again. He was completely immersed in the fantasy. Paul quickly finished his dirty task, and once again, John was clean and completely naked on his changing table, as Paul laid two thick cloth nappies underneath his bottom. With a thick coat of talcum powder coating his pubis and bottom, Paul pinned the two nappies on him; they were so thick, John’s legs couldn’t come together all the way and he left them splayed as a toddler learning to walk would.

John didn’t even seem to notice that the diaper change he had so dreaded was over-- the keyring in his hand was more than enough entertainment for him. He didn’t pay attention to what Daddy was pulling out of the closet until he was sitting him up and tugging a soft, white linen something over his head and his baby blue knit booties onto his feet. He was helped off the table and stood pigeon-toed before the mirror on trembling legs, looking at the overgrown infant before his eyes. Paul had dressed him in a linen dress that had been common for babies decades before either of them were born, the hem barely touching the middle of his nappies. 

“I’ll take that, lovey,” Paul said, and plucked the keyring from John’s hand. He was about to start complaining but Paul popped his dummy back into his mouth. He held John’s hand in his as he slipped it into a thick cotton mitten, and then did the same with the other; John gave his fingers an experimental wiggle and realized with an excited horror that he could barely move them. For the finishing touch, Paul produced a soft, pink bonnet, strapping it under John’s chin. John could barely recognize himself in the mirror. Surely this wasn’t the same person who appeared on television and magazine covers across the world, the same man girls literally swooned for? No, John decided, it wasn’t the same person. This person only belonged to Paul, and absolutely no one else.

“Do you like it, little love?” Paul asked, straightening John’s dress, and John nodded, unrecognizing of Paul’s concern that he may not. He felt so soft and so cute, so much like a little baby… He turned from the mirror and launched himself into Paul’s arms, hugging him and snuggling him like an affectionate little child. He didn’t say anything, because of his pacifier, but he didn’t need to. 

They spent the rest of the morning playing in the nursery, John crawling on the carpet like the baby he was, barely able to hold onto anything in his thick mittens, and Paul would help him with a gentle smile. They played with the letter blocks, Paul spelling out words like “cat” and “song” for a delighted John; they played with the stuffed animals and dolls, Paul allowing John to take his dummy out and to make up the childish plot of their play. He didn’t need to be reminded that he was only allowed to “baby talk,” that wasn’t an issue. His voice was higher and sweeter like this, and his expansive vocabulary reduced to the capabilities of a toddler. 

“Daddy, lookit horsey!” he giggled, making the stuffed horse “gallop” up and down Paul’s arm.

“Hey now, horsey!” Paul said, a fake authoritarianism in his voice, and he gently bonked the horse on its snout. “You don’t ride people, people ride you! Where do you want the horsey to go, Johnny?”

“Uhhh… I dunna…” John focused on the toys sitting on the carpet in front of him. “Horsey go lunchtime?”

Paul checked his wristwatch. “Oh dear, it’s not time for horsey’s lunch, it’s time for a little baby’s lunch! You must be starving, lovey!” He scooped John into his arms, and carried him back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Ordinarily, John would have felt the cold air on his bare legs and would have been unable to process anything besides the fact that his dress didn’t even come close to covering his nappy, but this wasn’t the same John who cared about those things. This John played happily with his horsey as Paul prepared him lunch, unconcerned about anyone who could peer in from the outside world and see him. 

“Okay, we have some nice soup for the baby!” Paul set the bowl down and John raised his hands in order for Paul to remove the mittens. Paul ignored them and fastened a bib around his neck before sitting down himself and lifting the spoon out of the bowl to blow on the liquid in the concave of the utensil. “Open wide, darling,” he cooed, “here comes the airplane!” He made soaring airplane noises, and John giggled as he closed his lips around the spoon, the hot broth trickling down his throat. He had never particularly liked soup, but he _loved_ Paul feeding him. They went through the entire bowl that way, Paul never seeming to lose energy and John never seeming to stop being amused.

“Daddy lunch?” John asked as Paul dumped the empty soup bowl in the sink, and Paul smiled at his little boy. John’s body had become used to naptime in these few days, and he was already struggling to keep his eyes open. 

Paul dabbed John’s mouth with his bib before removing it, and helped him to his feet. “Daddy will have his lunch after I put the baby down for his nap, okay? You’re a sweet boy, worrying about Daddy, aren’t you?”

John blushed, and stuck his thumb deep in his mouth, the go-to move for something he didn’t want to answer, Paul realized. With a warm baby bottle of milk in one hand and John’s horsey in the other, Paul grunted as he once again lifted John up to carry him upstairs. Every time he did, John felt lighter and lighter until he felt that he must not weigh any more than a regular baby. By the time they arrived in the nursery, he was almost asleep in Paul’s arms. Paul had planned to give the baby his bottle, but the peaceful expression on John’s face was enough to change his mind. He lay John in the crib, stripping him of his bonnet, mittens, and delicate baby dress, leaving him in nothing but his double nappies and booties. John, barely conscious, registered a tight warmth enveloping his body; he tried to wriggle but found it impossible. He whined, not understanding, a small desperation growing in his mind, but Paul simply slipped his oversized dummy back between his lips. 

“Baby will be safe and warm like this,” Paul whispered, kissing his forehead. “This is called swaddling, Johnny, and it’s what mommies and daddies do for their very little babies.” 

John attempted to move his body again, but only managed to wiggle in the thick blanket cocoon Paul had wrapped him in. He felt very warm, and the weight of the blanket calmed any anxiety brewing inside him. His eyelids drooped and he began breathing more slowly, until he finally fell asleep, Paul sitting beside him and stroking his hair the entire time.

Paul rose from the crib as quietly as he could, and pulled the bars up into their locked position-- not that there was any chance of John escaping the crib or even rolling out. Paul’s mother had taught him how to do this as a young boy, helping take care of his infant cousins, and as a nurse, her swaddling technique had been beyond reproach. Even before this, even before they had any sort of physical relationship, Paul had longed to suggest this to John. He envisioned tucking his furious and sometimes-terrifying best friend into a swaddling blanket, waiting for the outrage and humiliation to pass before the comfort took hold and he would fall asleep with a tiny smile on his face, happy as any baby. Though he would never admit it to anyone besides John, after his mother passed away, he would regularly swaddle himself for at least a year after, always in the throes of wretched sadness, when all he wanted was his mother to hold him close-- rolling himself up like a caterpillar in his blankets, he’d fall asleep within moments, those horrible feelings forgotten until next time. He understood John from the very beginning, even if it took time to piece it all together. Now, watching his lover doze, unconsciously still suckling his dummy, he knew that this was where his life had intended to lead him all along.

***

John woke up sweating, disorientated. He tried to move his arms but couldn’t. He tried to move his legs, but they were bound together. The crib bars towered over his head, and light peeking through the blinds made slats of the shadows on the wall behind him. He craned his head around as best he could, but the nursery was empty. He was alone. The pleasant weight of his swaddling blanket wasn’t a match for the sick weight of fear, and before he realized it, he was sobbing, sucking great quantities of air into his lungs, and howling for daddy.

“Shhh, baby, shhh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here.” Paul lifted him into his arms, not bothering to disinter John from his warm cocoon. John couldn’t stop crying though, even as Paul sat down with him in the rocking chair, rocking and humming as one would comfort any upset child. The tears had barely subsided when the teat of John’s baby bottle was stuck between his lips, and John began to suckle without a second thought.

“What a good baby,” Paul whispered. “That’s it, he’s a thirsty baby, isn’t he?” John slightly registered Paul’s fingers slipping between his legs through the opening of the blankets at his feet, traveling until they reached his nappy. He shivered as Paul stroked the front, then wiggled one finger inside.

“You’re a little wet, baby Johnny,” he said, removing his hand and surreptitiously wiping his finger on the blanket. “I think your nappies can handle another wee-wee though. They’re made for big babies with big wee-wees.”

John whined around the nipple in his mouth. He had wet again in his sleep and he didn’t want to stay in it! Paul ignored him though, and cradled him closer, and after a few moments, John’s wet nappy didn’t bother him anymore, he barely remembered it was there. Daddy smelled like sweat and cigarettes, and John’s cock stirred in his piss-soaked diaper. His arms were so strong and kept Johnny exactly where he wanted him. He felt so small… He felt so safe… 

It took a few moments for Paul to realize John was no longer drinking his milk; he glanced down at the boy in his arms and saw that he was already back asleep. As gently as he could, he deposited the swaddled boy back into his crib and locked the guard rail in place. He would let him sleep as long as he wanted-- after today, he didn’t know when they would have the chance to play in the nursery again. 

*** 

When John woke again, the late afternoon sun burned orange behind the blinds. John attempted to stretch in his swaddling blanket, but gave up without the satisfaction of a proper stretch. His dummy had fallen out of his mouth at some point and he yawned loudly. He felt refreshed, and no longer desperate for his daddy; as he felt his wet nappy squish against his bottom, he didn’t feel the smoldering arousal he usually did, but the mild disgust that typically arrived after orgasm, when this was no longer fun and just humiliating once again. This was the worst part of their play… When John was no longer little and just an adult in a wet nappy.

He took a deep, shaking breath before calling out, “Paul! Paul, I need you!”

There was a footfall in the hallway before the nursery door swung open and Paul bustled in. “Johnny? You okay?” He sounded hesitant, unlike the calm and firm Daddy whose role he could assume.

“I’m ready to stop playing,” John whispered, and that was that. The game was over. Paul lowered the guard rail, and unwrapped John from his blanket cocoon. His body gasped for the cool air that enveloped him, but more for Paul when he sat beside him and hugged him tightly.

“You are so good, do you know that?” Paul whispered into his ear, pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks. “You are so good, and so, _so_ brave! I love you, more than absolutely anything in the world.” 

“I love you too,” John whispered back automatically, his throat closing at the lovely praise his lover bestowed on him. “I-I’m sorry, I wanted to play all day but… I don’t think I can… I think I need to be grown-up for a while, before… Before Cynthia and Julian get home.”

Paul didn’t flinch at the names, but inside, he felt a sharp stab in his soul. He knew this was temporary-- it was always just temporary but it was easy to let himself believe they could keep doing this forever. John was still an adult, as he was, and he had responsibilities neither of them could deny. He made himself smile and say, “Of course, Johnny. I understand. Do you want me to change you, one last time?”

John shook his head and stood, grimacing as the wet nappies sagged off his hips. “I just want to take a shower now.”

“Oh! Yeah, okay, of course.” Paul stood as well, hovering awkwardly as John unpinned the diapers, catching them in his hands before they could fall to the floor. He deposited them into the bin as John waited. He raised his eyebrows at his older friend. “Do you need something?”

“No… No, I guess not…” John chuckled, half-hearted. “Guess I was waiting for permission still.”

Paul’s heart melted and he pulled John into a gentle kiss. “You don’t need it now,” he said once they had separated. “You can do whatever you want.”

_I don’t want to do whatever I want_, John thought as he walked naked to the bathroom, alone. _I just want to do whatever you tell me to._ He stood under the hot water for what felt like ages, scorching the memories of the week from his body. Apart from his half-regrown short hairs, there was nothing about him that looked different, but he couldn’t help but let a sob escape him as he began to cry, the shower water masking his tears.

“Hey.” John started at the soft voice before whirling around to see Paul poking his head behind the shower curtain. “You okay?”

“Can’t a man have some privacy?” he snapped, as if Paul hadn’t spent the last week invading every private space and thought John had. If they were still playing, he could have been dragged out of the shower and hauled over Paul’s knee for a brutal spanking, but they weren’t playing any longer. This was real life, and Paul winced at the anger in his voice. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, and John resisted a second before shaking his head, his pathetic need washing over him as well as the water did. Paul stepped into the shower, already naked, and took John into his arms. John wished he could collapse, take back everything he said, beg Paul to make him his baby once again. He wanted to sob, but contained himself-- he didn’t want Paul to think he was as sad as he really was.

“My love, my little love,” Paul whispered over and over, running his hands over John’s wet body. “This is okay, you know? You’re just coming back to yourself… You were little for a long time. Remember when we went to Australia and we couldn’t fall asleep until morning? It just takes time to adjust.”

“It’s not that,” John mumbled, even though he knew very well it was at least partly that. “Are we-- Do you-- What I mean is, would you--”

“Yes,” Paul interrupted. “I still love you. I still desire you. And I very much want to do this again with you, as soon as we’re able to.”

John couldn’t bring himself to look Paul in the eye, but he felt Paul’s cock, strong and insistent, poking against his hip, so he made himself say the words he most feared. “Do you still want me like _this_?”

Paul pulled back from him and John wanted to burst into tears. “Like what, John?” he asked, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Like an adult, Paul,” he hissed, angry that he had to spell it out. “Do you look at me and see my shit-covered arse? Or pissing myself on the changing table? How could you…” He broke himself off with a labored sigh. “How could you look at me and still want me the way you used to?”

“John…” Paul took John’s hands in his, stroking his fingers gently with his thumbs. “You’re the same person now that you always were--”

“I’m not!” John ripped his hands from Paul, stepping back in the small shower, his back pressing up against the cool tile wall. “I’m not the same person! I wouldn’t do all those things if I was like this instead of… Instead of like that! It’s like there’s two separate me’s.”

Paul’s heart was pounding. Was this really what John thought, after all their time together? “What about me then?” he demanded. “Am I two different people too?”

John avoided his eyes, focusing on the bottle of shampoo hanging in the shower caddy. “Maybe you are,” he said finally. “I think these parts of me bring out those parts in you, and eventually, one of us is going to want everything. That me is going to want all of that you, or vice versa, or reverse, or… Fuck…” He sighed, despondent, trying to figure out a way to say this without hurting the man he loved. “Eventually, it’s going to be too much, or too little, for either of us to deal with.”

Paul sat on the rim of the bathtub, his head spinning, possibly from the hot steam of the shower, but almost definitely because of John’s words. “John,” he whispered, and John had to strain his ears to hear him over the roar of the water and the rushing of his own blood in his veins. “Johnny, we’re not different people when we play these games. It was only ever me and it’s always just been you. I’m not less attracted to you when you act little, or when you act like an adult. We’re not just the sum of our parts. It’s us, together, that’s what I want. If you never wanted to do _this_ again… That would be okay with me. If you only wanted to do this, that would be fine too. I’d love you any way, absolutely any way that you would want me.”

John dropped to his knees and laid his head in Paul’s lap. Tears streamed down his wet face, and it was only when Paul lifted his own that he realized Paul was crying too. “I’d love you any way too, Paul,” he whispered. “You’re so good to me, you never had to be so good to me.”

“Oh, my little love…” Paul’s face broke into a bright smile despite his tears. “My love, I _live_ to be good to you. Anything I can do, even if it’s leaving--”

“No!” John gasped, digging his fingers into Paul’s thighs. “Please! Don’t leave, Paulie! I don’t-- I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’m not, I’m not!” Paul reassured him. He stood, helping John to his feet as well before pressing him back against the tile and kissing him deeply. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, and dropped to his knees in front of John. John hadn’t realized he had developed an erection until Paul took it in his hand, giving him several firm strokes before taking him into his mouth.

John clasped a hand over his mouth, biting back his moan, but Paul pulled back, causing John to whine loudly in disappointment. “I want you to be loud, Johnny,” Paul ordered, a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t hold back for me. Please.” John lowered his hands, and Paul took them as he resumed his task, bobbing and sucking on John’s cock hands-free as John moaned Paul’s name, _Paul’s name_, over and over. As he came, he heard Paul’s voice telling him, _We are not just the sum of our parts._

***

John sat on the rim of the bathtub Sunday morning with a cigarette in hand, watching Paul take a lock of his beard between his fingers and snip it off with large silver scissors, the black hairs floating gracefully into the sink below. “I’m going to miss the beard,” he said, pushing back the glasses that had fallen down to the tip of his nose. Paul grinned at his reflection in the mirror and snipped another lock off.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out again later,” he said, somewhat distracted by his task. “You never know, with the tours getting so crazy, maybe we’ll stop for a while? We can focus more on the studio, and have more time for… you know.”

John hid his smile behind his cigarette. After smoking so few this week, the nicotine was going straight to his head, making it swim, and he could only get through half before stubbing it out in the ashtray Paul had thoughtfully put beside him. “I’d always like to have more time for ‘you know,’” he teased, sneaking up behind Paul and wrapping his arms around his waist. He stared at their reflections in the mirror, two young men who didn’t look anything like the ones who belonged to the world. These men only belonged to each other. He touched Paul’s cheek and guided him into a kiss, but ended up breaking it off with a giggle. “You do look like a twat with your beard half-shorn like that though!”

Paul rolled his eyes, but he laughed too. “All right then, Vidal Sassoon, why don’t you help me out? The train gets in at 11, remember?”

John couldn’t help but remember. Even though he hadn’t had a single accident since they ended their game, not even while he slept, he couldn’t help but fear he would slip into his old habits. He had spent last night retraining himself. He couldn’t worry about that now though. He dutifully picked up the scissors and continued cutting the longest and thickest patches of Paul’s beard until his facial hair was short enough to shave away. His breath caught as he picked up the straight razor, the same one Paul had shaved him with only days earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. Paul stared at the razor, then back to John, and John whispered, “Do you trust me?”

Paul only smiled. “Of course I do.” 

John instructed Paul to dampen his face, then guided him to sit on top of the closed toilet seat as he took the shaving cream brush and liberally applied the cream to Paul’s handsome face. Taking the razor in hand, he straddled Paul’s lap, and holding his breath, scraped the dark stubble from his lover’s cheeks. Paul never gasped, never once flinched under John’s careful hands, but once he was done, he grabbed John’s cheeks and pulled him into a passionate kiss. When they finally separated, John’s own face was smeared in shaving cream, and they both burst into giggles.

“Come on, let’s wash up, we better get going.”

John’s heart sunk. It was over. Time to return to real life. They stepped outside, fashionable and desirable, and the girls at the gates screamed as they appeared. The two men waved before disappearing into John’s car and drove away before any tried to stop them. 

“Do you think any of them know?” John said as they turned the corner of Paul’s street. “I mean, they couldn’t _know_ know, but--”

“You mean, do you think they know about us?” Paul shrugged, but took John’s hand in his. “If they do, then they obviously don’t care, right?”

“I guess,” John mumbled. As they rumbled farther and farther away from the nursery tucked away in the far part of Paul’s house, that part of John’s memory felt farther and farther away as well. By the time they arrived at the train station, it was almost like a new person stepped out from behind the wheel, but they both knew it was only ever John. 

Passerbys glanced in their direction and whispered to each other, but no one approached them. Paul desperately wished he could take John in his arms and kiss him one last time, but he couldn’t even take his hand. John looked uncomfortable, but he lit a cigarette and puffed like a chimney until his wife and son appeared on the platform. 

“Cyn!” John rushed towards her, picking her up in his arms and spinning her around before finally setting her back on her feet and giving her a proper movie kiss. Paul tried his best to avert his eyes, but everyone else was staring, so he might as well too, though he was sure no one else’s heart was breaking. 

“Uncle Paul!” a tiny voice burst into his thoughts and Paul brushed aside his heartache to drop down to his knees and give John’s son a suffocating hug. 

“How’re you doing, Jules?” Paul asked, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Not getting into too much trouble, I hope?”

“No!” the boy giggled, and ran back to his mother, hiding behind her skirts. Paul forced himself to stand back up, and he embraced Cynthia as well, kissing her on the cheek. It’s not like he hated Cynthia; in fact, he quite liked her, but it wasn’t like Marion Crane stole $40,000 from her boss and kept working there. _Psycho_ would have been a very different film had Janet Leigh been forced into countless interactions with the person she wronged, and just had to keep pretending that she had stolen nothing.

“Hi Paul,” Cynthia gushed, embracing him whole-heartedly. “I hope John wasn’t too much trouble for you this week!”

“Oh, not at all!” Paul waved his hand nonchalantly, but hoped that his cheeks weren’t burning. “John was a lovely houseguest, as he always is.”

“He means apart from the wild orgies I threw every night,” John said with a wink. “See you at the studio, right, Paul?” Before Paul could open his mouth to reply, John scooped Julian into his arms and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the child screaming in delight as John carried him to the car.

Cynthia touched his shoulder, distracting Paul from the painful sting of John’s lack of goodbye. “You’re a good friend,” she said gently, quietly enough so the rubberneckers couldn’t overhear them. “I know John would have gone batty had he stayed at home alone for the week.”

“It’s not a problem, Cyn,” Paul said, ignoring the shameful guilt that devoured his insides. “How’s your mum, is she doing all right?”

“She’s never been better,” Cynthia said with a sly smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she had never been sick at all.”

Before all the puzzle pieces could click into place in Paul’s brain, Cynthia leaned forward and kissed Paul’s freshly shaved cheek and whispered into his ear, “I hope you figured out that he needs an afternoon nap. Otherwise, he’s an utter grouch.”

Paul’s jaw hung open even as Cynthia hurried to the car, kissing her husband before she sat in the passenger seat. John waved once at Paul before disappearing into the car himself, and the little family roared off into the horizon. Paul stood there for some time, the picture the puzzle showed him more confusing than the individual pieces. He slowly realized people were staring, so he straightened himself and began the long walk back to his house alone.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to add in that this is my own interpretation of littlespace-- I've personally never really gone that far, but I tried to be accurate from my own experiences and what I've learned from my time in the scene. I personally also think that John was neurodivergent (like myself), so that also influenced how I depicted it, e.g. not liking to talk very much, mood swings, hyperfixation, etc. Again, this is just based on my experiences and ideas, not from real life. 
> 
> And one more time, THANK YOU SO MUCH! This ended up being the second-longest story I've ever written, and I'm ultimately proud of how it turned out. If you want to chat, follow me on Tumblr at littlelambdrgnfly!
> 
> P.S. Yes, Cynthia's a sly one, isn't she! We're Team Cyn in this house! ;)


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